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IN THE HIGH VALLEY 


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“ I must write mamma about these roses.” 

Frontispiece. See page 87. 



IN 

THE HIGH VALLEY 


BY 


SUSAN COOLIDGE 

Author op “The New Year’s Bargain,” “ What Eaty Did,” 
“ Mischief’s Thanksgiving,” etc. 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

william a. McCullough 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1913 



Copyright, 1891 , 

By Roberts Brothers. 

Copyright , 1913 , 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 

Published September, 1913 


printers 

8. J. Pabkhill & Co., Boston, U. 8 . A, 



©Cl. A 3 5 1840 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter Page 

I. Along the North Devon Coast .... 7 

II. Miss Opdyke from New York 40 

III. The Last of Devon and the First of 

America 65 

IY. In the High Valley 93 

V. Arrival 127 

YI. Unexpected 149 

VII. Thorns and Roses 174 

YHI. Unconditional Surrender 204 

IX. The Echoes in the East Canyon . . . 235 

X. A Double Knot 267 


r 


ILLUSTKATIONS 


" I must write mamma about these roses ” . . 

Katty gave warning at the end of the week . . 

“ Missy not very well, me thinkee, ,, he observed 

It came by telegraph two days before they had 
dared to hope for it 


Frontispiece 


PAGE 

149 ' 

u 

207 ^ 

u 

268 ^ 



IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


CHAPTER I. 

ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 

was a morning of late May, and the 
sunshine, though rather watery, after 
the fashion of South-of-England suns, 
was real sunshine still, and glinted and glit- 
tered bravely on the dew-soaked fields about 
Copplestone Grange. 

This was an ancient house of red brick, 
dating back to the last half of the sixteenth 
century, and still bearing testimony in its 
sturdy bulk to the honest and durable work 
put upon it by its builders. Not a joist had 
bent, not a girder started in the long course 
of its two hundred and odd years of life. The 



8 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


brick-work of its twisted chimney-stacks was 
intact, and the stone carving over its door- 
ways and window frames; only the immense 
growth of the ivy on its side walls attested 
to its age. It takes longer to build ivy five 
feet thick than many castles, and though new 
masonry by trick and artifice may be made 
to look like old, there is no secret known 
to man by which a plant or tree can be in- 
duced to simulate an antiquity which does 
not rightfully belong to it. Innumerable 
sparrows and tomtits had built in the thick 
mats of the old ivy, and their cries and twit- 
ters blended in shrill and happy chorus as 
they flew in and out of their nests. 

The Grange had been a place of impor- 
tance, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, as the home 
of an old Devon family which was finally run 
out and extinguished. It was now little more 
than a superior sort of farm-house. The 
broad acres of meadow and pleasaunce and 
woodland which had given it consequence in 
former days had been gradually parted with, 
as misfortunes and losses came to its origi- 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 9 

nal^owners. The woods had been felled, the 
pleasure grounds now made part of other 
people’s farms, and the once wide domain had 
contracted, until the ancient house stood with 
only a few acres about it, and wore something 
the air of an old-time belle who has been 
forcibly divested of her ample farthingale and 
hooped-petticoat, and made to wear the scant 
kirtle of a village maid. 

Orchards of pear and apple flanked the 
building to east and west. Behind was a 
field or two crowning a little upland where 
sedate cows fed demurely ; and in front, to- 
ward the south, which was the side of en- 
trance, lay a narrow walled garden, with 
box-bordered beds full of early flowers, mim- 
ulus, sweet-peas, mignonette, stock gillies, 
and blush and damask roses, carefully tended 
and making a blaze of color on the face of 
the bright morning. The whole front of 
the house was draped with a luxuriant vine 
of Gloire de Dijon, whose long, pink-yellow 
buds and cream-flushed cups sent wafts of 
delicate sweetness with every puff of wind. 


10 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Seventy years before the May morning of 
which we write, Copplestone Grange had 
fallen at public sale to Edward Young, a 
well-to-do banker of Bideford. He was a de- 
scendant in direct line of that valiant Young 
who, together with his fellow-seaman Prowse, 
undertook the dangerous task of steering 
down and igniting the seven fire-ships which 
sent the Spanish armada “lumbering off” to 
sea, and saved England for Queen Elizabeth 
and the Protestant succession. 

Edward Young lived twenty years in 
peace and honor to enjoy his purchase, and 
his oldest son James now reigned in his stead, 
having reared within the old walls a numer- 
ous brood of sons and daughters, now scat- 
tered over the surface of the world in general, 
after the sturdy British fashion, till only three 
or four remained at home, waiting their turn 
to fly. 

One of these now stood at the gate. It 
was Imogen Young, oldest but one of the 
four daughters. She was evidently waiting 
for some one, and waiting rather impatiently. 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 11 

“We shall certainly be late,” she said 
aloud, “ and it ’s quite too bad of Lion” 
Then, glancing at the little silver watch in 
her belt, she began to call, “ Lion ! Lionel ! 
Oh, Lion ! do make haste ! It ’s gone twenty 
past, and we shall never be there in time” 

“ Coming,” shouted a voice from an upper 
window ; “ I ’m just washing my hands. Com- 
ing in a jiffy, Moggy ” 

“ Jiffy!” murmured Imogen. “ How very 
American Lion has got to be. He ’s always 
4 guessing ’ and ‘ calculating ’ and ‘ reckon- 
ing/ It seems as if he did it on purpose 
to startle and annoy me. I suppose one 
has got to get used to it if you ’re over there, 
but really it ’s beastly bad form, and I shall 
keep on telling Lion so.” 

She was not a pretty girl, but neither was 
she an ill-looking one. Neither tall nor very 
slender, her vigorous little figure had still a 
certain charm of trim erectness and youth- 
ful grace, though Imogen was twenty-four, 
and considered herself very staid and grown- 
up. A fresh, rosy skin, beautiful hair of a 


12 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


warm, chestnut color, with a natural wave in 
it, and clear, honest, blue eyes, went far to 
atone for a thick nose, a wide mouth, and 
front teeth which projected slightly and 
seemed a size too large for the face to which 
they belonged. Her dress did nothing to 
assist her looks. It was woollen, of an unbe- 
coming shade of yellowish gray ; it fitted badly, 
and the complicated loops and hitches of the 
skirt bespoke a fashion some time since passed 
by among those who were particular as to 
such matters. The effect was not assisted by 
a pork-pie hat of black straw trimmed with 
green feathers, a pink ribbon from which 
depended a silver locket, a belt of deep 
magenta-red, yellow gloves, and an umbrella 
bright navy-blue in tint. She had over her 
arm a purplish water-proof, and her thick, 
solid boots could defy the mud of her na- 
tive shire. 

“ Lion ! Lion ! ” she called again ; and this 
time a tall young fellow responded, running 
rapidly down the path to join her. He was 
two years her junior, vigorous, alert, and boy- 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 13 


ish, with a fresh skin, and tawny, waving hair 
like her own. 

“ How long you have been ! ” she cried 
reproachfully. 

“ Grieved to have kept you, Miss,” was the 
reply. “ You see, things went contrairy-like. 
The grease got all over me when I was clean- 
ing the guns, and cold water wouldn’t take 
it off, and that old Saunders took his time 
about bringing the can of hot, till at last I 
rushed down and fetched it up myself from 
the copper. You should have seen cook’s 
face ! ‘ Fancy, Master Lionel/ says she, 

‘ coming yourself for ’ot water ! 9 I tell you, 
Moggy, Saunders is past his usefulness. 
He’s a regular duffer — a gump.” 

“ There ’s another American expression. 
Saunders is a most respectable man, I ’m sure, 
and has been in the family thirty-one years. 
Of course he has a good deal to do just now, 
with the packing and all. Now, Lion, we 
shall have to walk smartly if we ’re to get 
there at half-after.” 

“ All right. Here goes for a spin, then. ,> 


14 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


The brother and sister walked rapidly on. 
down the winding road, in the half-shadow 
of the bordering hedges. Real Devonshire 
hedge-rows they were, than which are none 
lovelier in England, rising eight and ten feet 
overhead on either side, and topped with deli- 
cate, flickering birch and ash boughs blowing 
in the fresh wind. Below were thick growths 
of hawthorn, white and pink, and wild white 
roses in full flower interspersed with maple 
tips as red as blood, the whole interlaced and 
held together with thick withes and tangles 
of ivy, briony, and travellers’ joy. Beneath 
them the ground was strewn with flowers, — 
violets, and king-cups, poppies, red campions, 
and blue iris, — while tall spikes of rose-col- 
ored foxgloves rose from among ranks of 
massed ferns, brake, hart’s-tongue, and maid- 
en’s-hair, with here and there a splendid 
growth of Osmund Royal. To sight and smell, 
the hedge-rows were equally delightful. 

Copplestone Grange stood three miles west 
of Bideford, and the house to which the 
Youngs were going was close above Clovelly, 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 15 

so that a distance of some seven miles sepa- 
rated them. To walk this twice for the sake 
of lunching with a friend would seem to 
most young Americans too formidable a task 
to be at all worth while, but to our sturdy 
English pair it presented no difficulties. On 
they went, lightly and steadily, Imogen’s 
elastic steps keeping pace easily with her 
brother’s longer tread. There was a good 
deal of up and down hill to get over with, 
and whenever they topped a rise, green downs 
ending in wooded cliffs could be seen to the 
left, and beyond and . below an expanse of 
white-flecked shimmering sea. A salt wind 
from the channel blew in their faces, full of 
coolness and refreshment, and there was no 
dust. 

“ I suppose we shall never see the ocean 
from where we are to live,” said Imogen, 
with a sigh. 

“Well, hardly, considering it’s about fif- 
teen-hundred miles away.” 

“ Fifteen hundred ! oh, Lion, you are surely 
exaggerating. Why, the whole of England 


16 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


is not so large as that, from Land’s End to 
John O’Groat’s House.” 

“ I should say not, nothing like it. Why 
Moggy, you ’ve no idea how small our * right 
little, tight little island’ really is. You could 
set it down plump in some of the States, 
New York, for instance, and there would be 
quite a tidy fringe of territory left all round 
it. Of course, morally, we are the stand- 
ard of size for all the world, but geographi- 
cally, phew ! — our size is little, though our 
hearts are great.” 

“ I think it ’s vulgar to be so big, — not that 
I believe half you say, Lion. You ’ve been 
over in America so long, and grown such a 
Yankee, that you swallow everything they 
choose to tell you. I ’ve always heard about 
American brag — ” 

“ My dear, there ’s no need to brag when 
the facts are there, staring you in the face. 
It’s just a matter of feet and inches, — any 
one can do the measurement who has a tape- 
line. Wait till you see it. And as for its 
being vulgar to be big, why is the ‘ right 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 17 

little, tight little* always stretching out her 
long arms to rope in new territory, in that 
case, I should like to know? It would be 
much eleganter to keep herself to home — ” 

“ Oh, don’t talk that sort of rot; I hate to 
hear you.” 

“ I must when you talk that kind of — well, 
let us say ‘ rubbish/ c Rot * is one of our 
choice terms which hasn’t got over to the 
States yet. You ’re as opiniated and ‘nar- 
rer’ as the little island itself. What do 
you know about America, any way ? Did 
you ever see an American in your life, 
child?” 

“ Yes, several. I saw Buffalo Bill last year, 
and lots of Indians and cow-boys whom he 
had fetched over. And I saw Professor — Pro- 
fessor — what was his name ? I forget, but 
he lectured on phrenology; and then there 
was Mrs. Geoff Templestowe.” 

“ Oh Mrs. Geoff — she *s a different sort. 
Buffalo Bill and his show can hardly be 
treated as specimens of American society, 
and neither can your bump-man. But she *s 
2 


18 


IN THE HIGn VALLEY. 


a fair sample of the nice kind ; and you liked 
her, now did n’t you ? you know you did.” 

“ Well, yes, I did,” admitted Imogen, rath- 
er grudgingly. “ She was really quite nice, 
and good-form, and all that, and Isabel 
said she was far and away the best sister- 
in-law yet, and the Squire took such a fancy 
to her that it was quite remarkable. But she 
cannot be used as an argument, for she ’s 
not the least like the American girls in the 
books. She must have had unusual advan- 
tages. And after all, — nice as she was, she 
was n’t English. There was a difference some- 
how, — you felt it though you could n’t say 
exactly what it was.” 

“ No, thank goodness — she is n’t ; that ’s 
just the beauty of it. Why should all the 
world be just alike? And what books do 
you mean, and what girls? There are all 
kinds on the other side, I can tell you. Wait 
till you get over to the High Valley and 
you’ll see.” 

This sort of discussion had become habitual 
of late between the brother and sister. Three 


ALONG THE NOKTH DEVON COAST. 19 


years before, Lionel had gone out to Colorado, 
to “ look about and see how ranching suited 
him,” as he phrased it, and had decided that 
it suited him exactly. He had served a sort 
of apprenticeship to Geoffrey Templestowe, 
the son of an old Devonshire neighbor, who 
had settled in a place called High Valley, 
and, together with two partners, had built up 
a flourishing and lucrative cattle business, own- 
ing a large tract of grazing territory and great 
herds. One of the partners was now trans- 
ferred to New Mexico, where the firm owned 
land also, and Mr. Young had advanced 
money to buy Lionel, who was now competent 
to begin for himself, a share in the business. 
He was now going out to remain perma- 
nently, and Imogen was going also, to keep 
his house and make a home for him till he 
should be ready to marry and settle down. 

All over the world there are good English 
sisters doing this sort of thing. In Australia 
and New Zealand they are to be found, in 
Canada, and India, and the Transvaal, — wher- 
ever English boys are sent to advance their 


20 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


fortunes. Had her destination been Canada 
or Australia, Imogen would have found no 
difficulty in adjusting her ideas to it, but the 
United States were a terra incognita. Know- 
ing absolutely nothing about them, she had 
constructed out of a fertile fancy and a few 
facts an altogether imaginary America, not 
at all like the real one ; peopled by strange 
folk quite un-English in their ideas and ways, 
and very hard to understand and live with. 
In vain did Lionel protest and explain; his 
remonstrances were treated as proofs of the 
degeneracy and blindness induced by life in 
“The States,” and to all his appeals she op- 
posed that calm, obstinate disbelief which is 
the weapon of a limited intellect and experi- 
ence, and is harder to deal with than the most 
passionate convictions. 

Unknown to herself a little sting of under- 
lying jealousy tinctured these opinions. For 
many years Isabel Templestowe had been her 
favorite friend, the person she most admired 
and looked up to. They had been at school 
together, — Isabel always taking the lead in 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 21 

everything, Imogen following and imitating. 
The Templestowes were better born than the 
Youngs, they took a higher place in the coun- 
ty; it was a distinction as well as a tender 
pleasure to be intimate in the house. Once 
or twice Isabel had gone to her married sis- 
ter in London for a taste of the “ season.” 
No such chance had ever fallen to Imogen’s 
lot, but it was next best to get letters, and 
hear from Isabel of all that she had seen and 
done ; thus sharing the joys at second-hand, 
as it were. 

Isabel had other intimates, some of whom 
were more to her than Imogen could be, 
but they lived at a distance and Imogen 
close at hand. Propinquity plays a large 
part in friendship as well as love. Imogen 
had no other intimate, but she knew too 
little of Isabel’s other interests to be made 
uncomfortable about them, and was quite 
happy in her position as nearest and closest 
confidante until, four years before, Geoffrey 
Templestowe came home for a visit, bring- 
ing with him his American wife, whose name 


22 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


before her marriage had been Clover Carr, 
and whom some of you who read this will 
recognize as an old friend. 

Young, sweet, pretty, very happy, and 
“ horribly well-dressed,’’ as poor Imogen in 
her secret soul admitted, Clover easily and 
quickly won the liking of her “ people-in- 
law.” All the outlying sons and daughters 
who were within reach came home to make 
her acquaintance, and all were charmed with 
her. The Squire petted and made much of 
his new daughter and could not say enough 
in her praise. Mrs. Templestowe averred that 
she was as good as she was pretty, and as “ sen- 
sible ” as if she had been born and brought 
up in England ; and, worst of all, Isabel, for 
the time of their stay, was perfectly absorbed 
in Geoff and Clover, and though kind and 
affectionate when they met, had little or no 
time to spend on Imogen. She and Clover 
were of nearly the same age, each had a thou- 
sand interesting things to tell the other, both 
were devoted to Geoffrey, — it was natural, 
inevitable, that they should draw together. 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 23 


Imogen confessed to herself that it was only 
right that they should do so, but it hurt all 
the same, and it was still a sore spot in her 
heart that Isabel should love Clover so much, 
and that they should write such long letters 
to each other. She was a conscientious girl, 
and she fought against the feeling and tried 
hard to forget it, but there it was all the 
same. 

But while I have been explaining, the rapid 
feet of the two walkers had taken them past 
the Hoops Inn, and to the opening of a rough 
shady lane which made a short cut to the 
grounds of Stowe Manor, as the Templestowes’ 
place was called. 

They entered by a private gate, opened by 
Imogen with a key which she carried, and 
found themselves on the slope of a hill over- 
hung with magnificent old beeches. Farther 
down, the slope became steeper and narrowed 
to form the sharp “ chine ” which cut the 
cliff seaward to the water's edge. The Manor- 
house stood on a natural plateau at the head 
of the ravine, whose steep green sides made a 


24 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


frame for the beautiful picture it commanded 
of Lundy Island, rising in bold outlines over 
seventeen miles of blue, tossing sea. 

The brother and sister paused a moment 
to look for the hundredth time at this ex- 
quisite glimpse. Then they ran lightly down 
over the grass to where an intersecting gravel- 
path led to the door. It stood hospitably 
open, affording a view of the entrance hall. 

Such a beautiful old hall ! built in the time 
of the Tudors, with a great carven fireplace, 
mullioned windows in deep square bays, and 
a ceiling carved with fans, shields, and roses. 
“ Bow-pots ” stood on the sills, full of rose- 
leaves and spices, huge antlers and trophies 
of weapons adorned the walls, and the pol- 
ished floor, almost black with age, shone like 
a looking-glass. 

Beyond opened a drawing-room, low-ceiled 
and equally quaint in build. The furniture 
seemed as old as the house. There was 
nothing with a modern air about it, except 
some Indian curiosities, a water-color or two, 
the photographs of the family, and the fresh 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 25 

flowers in the vases. But the sun shone in, 
there was a great sense of peace and stillness, 
and beside a little wood-fire, which burned 
gently and did not hiss or crackle as it 
might have done elsewhere, sat a lovely old 
lady, whose fresh and peaceful and kindly 
face seemed the centre from which all the 
home look and comfort streamed. She was 
knitting a long silk stocking, a volume of 
Mudie’s lay on her knee, and a skye terrier, 
blue, fuzzy, and sleepy, had curled himself 
luxuriously in the folds of her dress. 

This was Mrs. Templestowe, Geoff’s mother 
and Clover’s mother-in-law. She jumped up 
almost as lightly as a girl to welcome the 
visitors. 

“ Take your hat off, my dear,” she said to 
Imogen, “ or would you rather run up to Isa- 
bel’s room? She was here just now, but her 
father called her off to consult about some- 
thing in the hot-house. He won’t keep her 
long — Ah, there she is now, ” as a figure 
flashed by the window ; “ I knew she would 
be here directly.” 


26 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Another second and Isabel hurried in, a tall, 
slender girl with thick, fair hair, blue eyes 
with dark lashes, and a look of breeding and 
distinction. Her dress, very simple in cut, 
suited her, and had that undefinable air of 
being just right which a good London tailor 
knows how to give. She wore no ornaments, 
but Imogen, who had felt rather well-dressed 
when she left home, suddenly hated her 
gown and hat, realized that her belt and rib- 
bon did not agree, and wished for the dozenth 
time that she had the knack at getting the 
right thing which Isabel possessed. 

“Her clothes grow prettier all the time, 
and mine get uglier,” she reflected. “The 
Squire says she got points from Mrs. Geoff, 
and that the Americans know how to dress 
if they don’t know anything else ; but that ’s 
nonsense, of course, — Isabel always did know 
how; she didn’t need any one to teach her.” 

Pretty soon they were all seated at lun- 
cheon, a hearty and substantial meal, as befit- 
ted the needs of people who had just taken 
a seven-mile walk. A great round of cold 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 27 

beef stood at one end of the table, a chicken- 
pie at the other, and there were early peas 
and potatoes, a huge cherry-tart, a “ junket ” 
equally large, strawberries, and various cakes 
and pastries, meant to be eaten with a smother 
of that delicacy peculiar to Devonshire, clotted 
cream. Every body was very hungry, and 
not much was said till the first rage of appe- 
tite was satisfied. 

u Ah ! ” said the Squire, as he filled his 
glass with amber-hued cider, — “ you don’t 
get anything so good as this to drink over in 
America, Lionel.” 

“ Indeed we do, sir. Wait till you taste 
our lemonade made with natural soda-water.” 

“ Lemonade ? phoo ! Poor stuff I call it, 
cold and thin. I hope Geoff has some better 
tipple than that to cheer him in the High 
Valley” 

“Iced water,” suggested Lionel, mischiev- 
ously. 

“ Don’t talk to me about iced water. It ’s 
worse than lemonade. It ’s the perpetual 
use of ice which makes the Americans so 
nervous, I am convinced.” 


28 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ But, papa, are they so nervous ? Clover 
certainly is n’t.” 

“Ah! my little Clover, — no, she wasn’t 
nervous. She was nothing that she ought 
not to be. I call her as sweet a lass as any 
country need want to see. But Clover ’s no 
example ; there are n’t many like her, I fancy, 
— eh, Lion ? ” 

“ Well, Squire, she’s not the only one of 
the sort over there. Her sister, who married 
Mr. Page, our other partner, you know, is 
quite as pretty as she is, and as nice, too, 
though in a different way. And there ’s the 
oldest one — the wife of the naval officer, 
I ’m not sure but you would like her the best 
of the three. She’s a ripper in looks, — tall, 
you know, with lots of go and energy, and 
yet as sweet and womanly as can be ; you ’d 
like her very much, you ’d like all of them.” 

“ How is the unmarried one? — Joan, I think 
they call her,” asked Mrs. Tern pies to we. 

“ Oh ! ” said Lionel, rather confused, “ I 
don’t know so much about her. She ’s only 
once been out to the valley since I was there. 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 29 

She seems a nice girl, and certainly she’s 
mighty pretty.” 

tl Lion ’s blushing,” remarked Imogen. 
“ He always does blush when he speaks of 
that Miss Carr.” 

u Rot ! ” muttered Lionel, with a wrathful 
look at his sister. u I do nothing of the 
kind. But, Squire, when are you coming 
over to see for yourself how we look and 
behave ? I think you and the Madam would 
enjoy a summer in the High Yalley very 
much, and it would be no end of larks to 
have you. Isabel would like it of all things.” 

“ Oh, I know I should. I would start to- 
morrow, if I could. I ’m coming across to make 
Clover and Imogen a long visit the first mo- 
ment that papa and mamma can spare me.” 

“That will be a long time to wait, I fear,” 
said her mother, sadly. “Since Mr. Mat- 
thewson married and carried off poor Helen’s 
children, the house has seemed so silent that 
except for you it would hardly be worth while 
to get up in the morning. We can’t spare 
you at present, dear child.” 


30 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I know, mamma, and I shall never go till 
you can. The perfect thing would be that 
we should all go together.” 

“Yes, if it were not for that dreadful 
voyage.” 

“ Oh, the voyage is nothing,” broke in the 
irrepressible Lionel, “you just take some little 
pills; I forget the name of them, but they 
make you safe not to be sick, and then you ’re 
across before you know it. The ships are 
very comfortable, — electric bells, Welsh rab- 
bits at bed-time, and all that, you know.” 

“Fancy mamma with a Welsh rabbit at 
bed-time ! — mamma, who cannot even row 
down to Gallantry on the smoothest day 
without being upset! You must bait your 
hook with something else, Lionel, if you. 
hope to catch her.” 

“ How would a trefoil of clover-leaves an- 
swer?” with a smile, — “she, Geoff, and the 
boy.” 

“Ah, that dear baby. I wish I could see 
the little fellow. He is so pretty in his pict- 
ure,” sighed Mrs. Templestowe. “ That bait 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 31 

would land me if anything could, Lion. By 
the way, there are some little parcels for 
them, which I thought perhaps you would 
make room for, Imogen.” 

“Yes, indeed, I’ll carry anything with 
pleasure. Now I ’m afraid we must be going. 
Mother wants me to step down to Clovelly 
with a message for the landlady of the New 
Inn, and I’ve set my heart upon walking 
once more to Gallantry Bower. Can’t you 
come with us, Isabel? It would be so nice 
if you could, and it’s my last chance.” 

“ Of course I will. I ’ll be ready in five 
minutes, if you really can’t stay any longer.” 

The three friends were soon on their way, 
under a low-hung sky, which looked near 
and threatening. The beautiful morning 
was fled. 

“We had better cut down into the Hobby 
grounds and get under the trees, for I think 
it’s going to be wet,” said Imogen. 

The suggestion proved a wise one, for be- 
fore they emerged from the shelter of the 
woods it was raining smartly, and the girls 


32 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


were glad of their water-proofs and umbrellas. 
Lionel, with hands in pockets, strode on, 
disdaining what he was pleased to call “a 
little local shower.” 

“You should see how it pours in Colo- 
rado,” he remarked. “That's worth calling 
rain ! Immense ! Noah would feel perfectly 
at home in it ! ” 

The tax of threepence each person, by 
which strangers are ingeniously made to 
contribute to the “local charities,” was not 
exacted of them at the New Road Gate, on 
the strength of their being residents, and 
personal friends of the owners of Clovelly 
Court. A few steps farther brought them 
to the top of a zig-zag path, sloping sharply 
downward at an angle of some sixty-five 
degrees, paved with broad stones, and flanked 
on either side by houses, no two of which 
occupied the same level, and which seemed 
to realize their precarious footing, and hug 
the rift in which they were planted as lim- 
pets hug a rock. 

This was the so-called “ Clovelly Street/' 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 33 

and surely a more extraordinary thing in the 
way of a street does not exist in the known 
world. The little village is built on the sides 
of a crack in a tremendous cliff; the “ street ” 
is merely the bottom of the crack, into which 
the ingenuity of man has fitted a few stones, 
set slant-wise, with intersecting ridges on 
which the foot can catch as it goes slipping 
hopelessly down. Even to practised walkers 
the descent is difficult, especially when the 
stones are wet. The party from Stowe were 
familiar with the path, and had trodden it 
many times, but even they picked their steps, 
and went “ delicately ” like King Agag, hold- 
ing up umbrellas in one hand, and with the 
other catching at garden palings and the 
edges of door-steps to save themselves from 
pitching headlong, while beside them little 
boys and girls with the agility of long prac- 
tice, went down merrily almost at a run, their 
heavy, flat-bottomed shoes making a clap- 
clap-clapping noise as they descended, like 
the strokes of a mallet on wood. 

Looking up and above the quaint tene- 

3 


34 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


ments that bordered the “ street/’ other houses 
equally quaint could be seen on either side 
rising above each other to the top of the 
cliff, in whose midst the crack which held 
the village is set. How it ever entered into 
the mind of man to utilize such a place for 
such a purpose it was hard to conceive. The 
eccentricity of level was endless, gardens 
topped roofs, gooseberry- bushes and plum- 
trees seemed growing out of chimneys, tall 
trees rose apparently from ridge-poles, and 
here and there against the sky appeared ex- 
traordinary wooden figures of colossal size, 
Mermaids and Britannias and Belle Savages, 
figure-heads of forgotten ships which old sea- 
captains out of commission had set up in their 
gardens to remind them of perils past. The 
weather-beaten little houses looked centuries 
old, and all had such an air of having been 
washed accidentally into their places by a 
great tidal wave that the vines and flowers 
which overhung them affected the new-comer 
with a sense of surprise. 

Down went the three, slipping and sliding, 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 35 


catching on and recovering themselves, till 
they came to a small, low-browed building 
dating back for a couple of centuries or so, 
which was the “ New Inn.” “ Old” and “ new” 
have a local meaning of their own in Clo- 
velly which does not exactly apply anywhere 
else. 

Up two little steps they passed into a nar- 
row entry, with a parlor on one side and on 
the other a comfortable sort of housekeeper’s 
room, where a fire was blazing in a grate with 
wide hobs. Both rooms as well as the entry 
were hung with plates, dishes, platters, and 
bowls, set thickly on the walls in groups of 
tens and scores and double-scores, as suited 
their shape and color. The same ceramic 
decoration ran upstairs and pervaded the 
rooms above more or less; a more modern 
brick-building on the opposite side of the street 
which was the 66 annex” of the Inn, was 
equally full ; hundreds and hundreds of 
plates and saucers and cups, English and 
Delft ware chiefly, and blue and white in 
color. It had been the landlady’s hobby for 


36 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


years past to form this collection of china, 
and it was now for sale to any one who 
might care to buy. 

Isabel and Lionel ran to and fro examining 
“the great wall of China,” as he termed it, 
while Imogen did her mother's errand to the 
landlady. Then they started again to mount 
the hill, which was an easier task than going 
down, passing on the way two or three parties 
of tourists holding on to each other, and 
shrieking and exclaiming ; and being passed 
by a minute donkey with two sole-leather 
trunks slung on one side of him, and on the 
other a mountainous heap of hand-bags and 
valises. This is the only creature with four 
legs, bigger than a dog, that ever gets down 
the Clovelly street ; and why he does not lose 
his balance, topple backward, and go rolling 
continuously down till he falls into the sea 
below, nobody can imagine. But the val- 
iant little animal kept steadily on, assisted 
by his owner, who followed and assiduously 
whacked him with a stout stick, and he reached 
the top much sooner than any of his biped 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 37 

following. One cannot have too many legs 
in Clovelly, — a centipede would find himself 
at an uncommon advantage. 

At the top of the street is the “ Yellery 
Gate ” through which our party passed into 
lovely park grounds topping a line of fine 
cliffs which lead to “ Gallantry Bower.” This 
is the name given to an enormous headland 
which falls into the sea with a sheer descent 
of nearly four hundred feet, and forms the 
western boundary of the Clovelly roadstead. 

The path was charmingly laid out with 
belts of woodland and clumps of flowering 
shrubs. Here and there was a seat or a rus- 
tic summer-house, commanding views of the 
sea, now a deep intense blue, for the rain 
had ceased as suddenly as it came, and broad 
yellow rays were streaming over the wet grass 
and trees, whose green was dazzling in its 
freshness. Imogen drew in a long breath of 
the salt wind, and looked wistfully about her at 
the vivid turf, the delicate shimmer of blow- 
ing leaves, and the tossing ocean, as if try- 
ing to photograph each detail in her memory. 


38 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I shall see nothing so beautiful over 
there,” she said. “Dear old Devonshire, 
there’s nothing like it.” 

“ Colorado is even better than ‘ dear old 
Devonshire/” declared her brother; “wait 
till you see Pike’s Peak. Wait till I drive 
you through the North Cheyenne Canyon.” 

But Imogen shook her head incredulously. 

“ Pike’s Peak ! ” she answered, with an air of 
scorn. “ The name is enough ; I never want 
to see it.” 

“ Well, you girls are good walkers, it must 
be confessed ; ” said Lionel, as they emerged 
on the crossing of the Bideford road where they 
must separate. “ Isabel looks as fresh as paint, 
and Moggy has n’t turned a hair. I don’t 
think Mrs. Geoff could stand such a walk, or 
any of her family.” 

“ Oh, no, indeed ; Clover would feel half- 
killed if she were asked to undertake a six- 
teen-mile walk. I remember, when she was 
here, we just went down to the pier at Clo- 
velly for a row on the Bay and back through 
the Hobby, six miles in all, perhaps, and she 


ALONG THE NORTH DEVON COAST. 39 

was quite done up, poor dear, and had to go 
on to the sofa. I can’t think why American 
girls are not better walkers, — though there 
was that Miss Appleton we met at Zermatt, 
who went up the Matterhorn and did n’t 
make much of it. Good-by, Imogen ; I shall 
come over before you start and fetch mamma’s 
parcels.” 


CHAPTER n. 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 

next week was a busy one. Pack* 
g had begun ; and what with Mrs. 
oung’s motherly desire to provide 
her children with every possible convenience 
for their new home, and Imogen’s rooted con- 
viction that nothing could be found in Colo- 
rado worth buying, and that it was essential 
to carry out all the tapes and sewing-silk 
and buttons and shoe-thread and shoes and 
stationery and court-plaster and cotton cloth 
and medicines that she and Lionel could pos- 
sibly require during the next five years, — 
it promised to be a long job. 

In vain did Lionel remonstrate, and assure 
his sister that every one of these things could 
be had equally well at St. Helen’s, where some 
of them went almost every day, and that 



MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 41 

extra baggage cost so much on the Pacific 
railways that the price of such commodities 
would be nearly doubled before she got them 
safely to the High Yalley. 

“ Now what can be the use of taking two 
pounds of pins, for example ? ” he protested. 
“ Pins are as plenty as blackberries in Amer- 
ica. And all those spools of thread too ! ” 

“ Reels of cotton, do you mean? I wish 
you would speak English, at least while we 
are in England. I should n’t dare go without 
plenty of such things. American cotton is n’t 
as good as ours ; I ’ve always been told that.” 

"Well, it’s good enough, as you’ll find. 
And do make a place for something pretty; 
a few nice tea-cups for instance, and some 
things to hold flowers, and some curtain 
stuffs for the windows, and photographs. 
Geoff and Mrs. Geoff have made their house 
awfully nice, I can tell you. Americans think 
a deal of that sort of thing. All this haber- 
dashery and hardware is ridiculous, and you ’ll 
be sorry enough that you did n’t listen to me 
before you are through with it.” 


42 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Mother has packed some cups already, I 
believe, and I’ll take that white Minton jar 
if you like, but really I should n’t think deli- 
cate things like that would be at all suitable 
in a new place like Colorado, where people 
must rough it as we are going to do. You 
are so infatuated about America, Lion, that I 
can’t trust your opinion at all.” 

“ I ’ve been there, and you have n’t,” was 
all that Lionel urged in answer. It seemed 
an incontrovertible argument, but Imogen 
made no attempt to overthrow it. She only 
packed on according to her own ideas, quite 
unconvinced. 

It lacked only five days of their setting out 
when she and her brother walked into Bide- 
ford one afternoon for some last errands. It 
was June now, and the south of England was 
at its freshest and fairest. The meadows 
along the margin of the Torridge wore their 
richest green, the hill slopes above them 
were a bloom of soft color. Each court yard 
and garden shimmered with the gold of labur- 
nums or the purple and white of clustering 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 


43 


clematis ; and the scent of flowers came with 
every puff of air. 

As they passed up the side street, a car- 
riage with three strange ladies in it drove 
by them. It stopped at the door of the New 
Inn, — as quaint in build and even older 
than the New Inn of Clovelly. The ladies 
got out, and one of them, to Imogen s great 
surprise, came forward and extended her 
hand to Lionel. 

“Mr. Young, — it is Mr. Young, isn't it? 
You ’ve quite forgotten me, I fear, — Mrs. 
Page. We met at St. Helen’s two years ago 
when I stopped to see my son. Let me intro- 
duce you to my daughter, the Comtesse de 
Conflans, and Miss Opdyke, of New York.” 

Lionel could do no less than stop, shake 
hands, and present his sister, whereupon Mrs. 
Page urged them both to come in for a few 
minutes and have a cup of tea. 

“We are here only till the evening-train,” 
she explained, — “just to see Westward Ho 
and get a glimpse of the Amyas Leigh coun- 
try. And I want to ask any quantity of 


44 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


questions about Clarence and his wife. What ! 
you are going out to the High Valley next 
week, and your sister too ? Oh, that makes 
it absolutely impossible for me to let you 
off. You really must come in. There are 
so many messages I should like to send, and 
a cup of tea will be a nice rest for Miss 
Young after her long walk. ,, 

“ It is n’t long at all,” protested Imogen ; 
but Mrs. Page could not be gainsaid, and 
led the way upstairs to a sitting-room with 
a bay window overlooking the windings of 
the Torridge, which was crammed with quaint 
carved furniture of all sorts. There were 
buffets, cabinets, secretaries, delightful old 
claw-footed tables and sofas, and chairs whose 
backs and arms were a mass of griffins and 
heraldic emblems. Old oak was the specialty 
of the landlady of this New Inn, it seemed, 
as blue china was of the other. For years 
she had attended sales and poked about in 
farmhouses and attics, till little by little she 
had accumulated an astonishing collection. 
Many of the pieces were genuine antiques, 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 45 

but some had been constructed under her own 
eye from wood equally venerable, — pew* 
ends and fragments of rood-screens purchased 
from a dismantled and ruined church. The 
effect was both picturesque and unusual. 

Mrs. Page seated her guests in two wide, 
high-backed chairs, rang for tea, and began 
to question Lionel about affairs in the High 
Valley, while Imogen, still under the influ- 
ence of surprise at finding herself calling on 
these strangers, glanced curiously at the 
younger ladies of the party. The Comtesse 
de Conflans was still young, and evidently had 
been very pretty, but she had a worn, dis- 
satisfied air, and did not look happy. Imogen 
learned afterward that her marriage, which 
was considered a triumph and a grand affair 
when it took place, had not turned out very 
well. Count Ernest de Conflans was rather 
a black sheep in some respects, had a strong 
taste for baccarat and rouge et noir , and spent 
so much of his bride’s money at these amuse- 
ments during the first year of their life to- 
gether, that her friends became alarmed, and 


46 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


their interference had brought about a sort 
of amicable separation. Count Ernest lived 
in Washington, receiving a specified sum out 
of his wife’s income, and she was travelling 
indefinitely in Europe with her mother. It 
was no wonder that she did not look satisfied 
and content. 

“ Miss Opdyke, of New York ” was quite dif- 
ferent and more attractive, Imogen thought. 
She had never seen any one in the least like 
her. Rather tall, with a long slender throat, 
a waist of fabulous smallness, and hands 
which, in their gants de Suede , did not seem 
more than two inches wide, she gave the im- 
pression of being as fragile in make and as 
delicately fibred as an exotic flower. She 
had pretty, arch, gray eyes, a skin as white 
as a magnolia blossom, and a fluff of wonder- 
ful pale hair — artlessly looped and pinned 
to look as if it had blown by accident into 
its place — which yet exactly suited the face 
it framed. She was restlessly vivacious, 
her mobile mouth twitched with a hidden 
amusement every other moment; when she 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 47 

smiled she revealed pearly teeth and a dimple ; 
and she smiled often. Her dress, apparently 
simple, was a wonder of fit and cut, — a skirt 
of dark fawn-brown, a blouse of ivory-white 
silk, elaborately tucked and shirred, a cape 
of glossy brown fur whose high collar set off 
her pale vivid face, and a “ picture hat ” with 
a wreath of plumes. Imogen, whose precon- 
ceived notion of an American girl included 
diamond ear-rings sported morning, noon, and 
night, observed with surprise that she wore 
no ornaments except one slender bangle. 
She had in her hand a great bunch of yellow 
roses, which exactly toned in with the ivory 
and brown of her dress, and she played with 
these and smelled them, as she sat on a high 
black-oak settle, and, consciously or uncon- 
sciously, made a picture of herself. 

She seemed as much surprised and enter- 
tained at Imogen as Imogen could possibly 
be at her. 

“ I suppose you run up to London often, ,, 
was her first remark. 

“N-o, not often.” In fact, Imogen had 


48 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


been in London only once in the whole course 
of her life. 

“ Dear me! — don’t you? Why, how can 
you exist without it ? I should n’t think 
there would be anything to do here that was 
in the least amusing, — not a thing. How do 
you spend your time?” 

“ I ? — I don’t know, I’m sure. There’s 
always plenty to do.” 

“To do, yes; but in the way of amuse- 
ment, I mean. Do you have many balls? 
Is there any gayety going on? Where do 
you find your men ? ” 

“No, we don’t have balls often, but we 
have lawn parties, and tennis, and once a 
year there ’s a school feast.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know, — children in gingham 
frocks and pinafores, eating buns and drinking 
milk-and-hot-water out of mugs. Raptur- 
ous fun it must be, — but I think one might 
get tired of it in time. As for lawn parties, 
I tried one in Fulham the other day, and I 
don’t want to go to any more in England, 
thank you. They never introduced a soul 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 49 

to us, the band played out of tune, it was as 
dull as ditch-water, — just dreary, ill-dressed 
people wandering in and out, and trying to 
look as if five sour strawberries on a plate, 
and a thimbleful of ice cream were bliss and 
high life and all the rest of it. The only 
thing really nice was the roses; those were 
delicious. Lady Mary Ponsonby gave me 
three, — to make up for not presenting any 
one to me, I suppose.” 

“Do you still keep up the old fashion of 
introductions in America ? ” said Imogen with 
calm superiority. “ It ’s quite gone out with 
us. We take it for granted that well-bred 
people will talk to their neighbors at parties, 
and enjoy themselves well enough for the 
moment, and then they need n’t be hampered 
with knowing them afterward. It saves a 
lot of complications not having to remember 
names, or bow to people.” 

“ Yes, I know that ’s the theory, but I call 
it a custom introduced for the suppression 
of strangers. Of course, if you know all the 
people present, or who they are, it doesn’t 

4 


50 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


matter in the least ; but if you don’t, it 
makes it a ghastly mockery to try to enjoy 
yourself at a party. But do tell me some 
more about Bideford. I ’m so curious about 
English country life. I ’ve seen only Lon- 
don so far. Is it ever warm over here?” 

“Warm?” vaguely, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean warm. Perhaps the word is not 
known over here, or does n’t mean the same 
thing. England seems to me just one de- 
gree better than Nova Zembla. The sun is 
a mere imitation sun. He looks yellow, like 
a real one, when you see him, — which isn’t 
often, — but he does n’t burn a bit. I ’ve had 
the shivers steadily ever since we landed.” 
She pulled her fur cape closer about her ears 
as she spoke. 

“ Why, what can you want different from 
this ? ” asked Imogen, surprised. “ It ’s a 
lovely day. We have n’t had a drop of rain 
since last night.” 

“That is quite true, and remarkable as 
true; but somehow I don’t feel any warmer 
than I did when it rained. Ah, here comes 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 51 

the tea. Let me pour it, Mrs. Page. I make 
awfully good tea. Such nice, thick cream! 
but, oh, dear ! — here is more of that awful 
bread.’’ * 

It was a stout household loaf, of the sort 
invariable in south-county England, substan- 
tial, crusty, and tough, with a “ nubbin ” on 
top, and in consistency something between 
pine wood and sole leather. Miss Opdyke, 
after filling her cups, proceeded to cut the 
loaf in slices, protesting as she did so that it 
“ creaked in the chewing,” and that 

“ The muscular strength that it gave to her jaw 
Would last her the rest of her life.” 

“Why, what sort of bread do you have 
in America?” demanded Imogen, astonished 
and offended by the frankness of these strict- 
ures. “ This is the sort every one eats here. 
I ’m sure it ’s excellent. What is there about 
it that you don’t like?” 

“ Oh, everything. Wait till you taste our 
American bread, and you ’ll understand, 
— or rather, our breads, for we have dozens 


52 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


of kinds, each more delicious than the last. 
Wait till you eat corn-bread and waffles.” 

“ I ’ve always been told that the American 
food was dreadfully messy,” observed Imo- 
gen, nettled into reprisals ; “ pepper on eggs, 
and all that sort of thing, — very messy and 
nasty, indeed ” 

“ Well, we have deviated from the English 
method as to the eating of eggs, I admit. I 
know it ’s correct to chip the shell, and eat 
all the white at one end by itself, with a 
little salt, and then all the yellow in the 
middle, and last of all the white at the other 
end by itself ; but there are bold spirits 
among us who venture to stir and mix. Fools 
rush in, you know; they will do it, even 
where Britons fear to tread.” 

“We stopped at Northam to see Sir 
Amyas Leigh’s house,” Mrs. Page was say- 
ing to Lionel. “ It ’s really very interesting 
to visit the spots where celebrated people 
have lived. There is a sad lack of such 
places in America. We are such a new coun- 
try. Lilly and Miss Opdyke walked up to 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 53 

the hill where Mrs. Leigh stood to see the 
Spanish ship come in, — quite fascinating, 
they said it was.” 

“ You must be sure to stay long enough 
in Boston to see the house where Silas 
Lapham lived,” put in the wicked Miss Op- 
dyke. “ One cannot see too much of places 
associated with famous people.” 

“ I don’t remember any such name in 
American history,” said honest Imogen, — 
“ ‘ Silas Lapham/ who was he ? ” 

“ A man in a novel, and Amyas Leigh is 
a man in another novel,” whispered Miss 
Opdyke. “ Mrs Page is n’t quite sure about 
him, but she doesn’t like to confess as frankly 
as you do. She has forgotten, and fancies 
that he really lived in Queen Elizabeth’s time ; 
and the coachman was so solemnly sure that 
he did that it ’s not much wonder. I bought 
an old silver patch-box in a jeweller’s shop on 
the High Street, and I ’m going to tell my 
sister that it belonged to Ayacanora.” 

“ What an odd idea.” 

“ We are full of odd ideas over in America, 
you know.” 


54 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Tell me something about the States/’ said 
Imogen. “My brother is quite mad over 
Colorado, but he doesn’t know much about 
the rest of it. I suppose the country about 
New York isn’t very wild, is it?” 

“Not very,” returned Miss Opdyke, with 
a twinkle. “ The buffalo are rarely seen now, 
and only two men were scalped by the Indi- 
ans outside the walls of the city last year.” 

“ Fancy ! And how do you pass your time ? 
Is it a gay place ? ” 

“ Very. We pass our time doing all sorts 
of things. There ’s the Corn Dance and the 
Green Currant Dance and the Water Melon 
pow wow, of course, and beside these, 
which date back to the early days of the 
colony, we have the more modern amuse- 
ments, German opera and Italian opera and 
the theatre and subscription concerts. Then 
we have balls nearly every night in the sea- 
son and dinner-parties and luncheons and 
lectures and musical parties, and we study 
a good deal and “ slum ” a little. Last win- 
ter I belonged to a Greek class and a fencing 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 55 

class, and a quartette club, and two private 
dancing classes, and a girls’ working club, 
and an amateur theatrical society. We gave 
two private concerts for charities, you know, 
and acted the Antigone for the benefit of the 
Influenza Hospital. Oh, there is a plenty to 
pass one’s time in New York, I can assure you. 
And when other amusements fail, we can go 
outside the walls, with a guard of trappers, 
of course, and try our hand at converting the 
natives.” 

u What tribe of Indians is it that you have 
near you ? ” 

“ The Tammanies, — a very trying tribe, I 
assure you. It seems impossible to make 
any impression on them or teach them 
anything.” 

“ Fancy ! Did you ever have any adven- 
tures yourself with these Indians ? ” asked 
Imogen, deeply excited over this veracious 
resume of life in modern New York. 

“ Oh, dear, yes — frequently.” 

“ Do tell me some of yours. This is so 
very interesting. Lionel never has said a 


56 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


word about the — Tallamies, did you call 
them?” 

“ Tammanies. Perhaps not ; Colorado is so 
far off, you know. They have Piutes there, 
— a different tribe entirely, and much less 
deleterious to civilization.” 

“ How sad. But about the adventures ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — well, I ’ll tell you of one ; in 
fact it is the only really exciting experience I 
ever had with the New York Indians. It was 
two years ago ; I had just come out, and it was 
my birthday, and papa said I might ride his 
new mustang, by way of a celebration. So we 
started, my brother and I, for a long country 
gallop. 

“ We were just on the other side of Central 
Park, barely out of the city, you see, when a 
sudden blood-curdling yell filled the air. We 
were horror-struck, for we knew at once what 
it must be, — the war-cry of the savages. We 
turned of course and galloped for our lives, 
but the Indians were between us and the 
gates. We could see their terrible faces 
streaked with war-paint, and the tomahawks 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 57 

at their girdles, and we felt that all hope was 
over. I caught hold of papa’s lasso, which 
was looped round the saddle, and cocked my 
revolving rifle — all the New York girls wear 
revolving rifles strapped round their waists,” 
continued Miss Opdyke, coolly, interrogating 
Imogen with her eyes as she spoke for signs 
of disbelief, but finding none — “ and I re- 
solved to sell my life and scalp as dearly as 
possible. Just then, when all seemed lost, 
we heard a shout which sounded like music to 
our ears. A company of mounted Rangers 
were galloping out from the city. They 
had seen our peril from one of the watch- 
towers, and had hurried to our rescue.” 

“ How fortunate ! ” said Imogen, drawing a 
long breath. “ Well, go on — do go on.” 

“ There is little more to tell,” said Miss 
Opdyke, controlling with difficulty her incli- 
nation to laugh. “ The Head Ranger at- 
tacked the Tammany chief, whose name was 
Day Vidbehill, — a queer name, isn’t it? — 
and slew him after a bloody conflict. He gave 
me his brush, I mean his scalp-lock, after- 


58 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


ward, and it now adorns — ” Here her 
amusement became ungovernable, and she 
went into fits of laughter, which Imogen’s 
astonished look only served to increase. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, between her parox- 
ysms, “ you believed it all ! it is too absurd, 
but you really believed it! I thought till 
just now that you were only pretending, to 
amuse me.” 

“ Was n’t it true, then ? ” said Imogen, her 
tardy wits waking slowly up to the con- 
clusion. 

“True! why, my dear child, New York 
is the third city of the world in size, — not 
quite so large as London, but approaching it. 
It is a great, brilliant, gay place, where every- 
thing under the sun can be bought and seen 
and done. Did you really think we had In- 
dians and buffaloes close by us ? ” 

“ And have n’t you ? ” 

“Dear me, no. There never was a buffalo 
within a thousand miles of us, and not an 
Indian has come within shooting distance for 
half a century, unless he came by train to 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 59 

take part in a show. You mustn’t be so 
easily taken in. People will impose upon 
you no end over in America, unless you are 
on your guard. What has your brother been 
about, not to explain things better ? ” 

“ Well, he has tried,” said Imogen, candidly, 
“but I didn’t half believe what he said, be- 
cause it was so different from the things in 
the books. And then he is so in love with 
America that it seemed as if he must be ex- 
aggerating. He did say that the cities were 
just like our cities, only more so, and that 
though the West wasn’t like England at all, 
it was very interesting to live in ; but I did n’t 
half listen to him, it sounded so impossible.” 

“Live and learn. You’ll have a great 
many surprises when you get across, but 
some of them will be pleasant ones, and I 
think you’ll like it. Good-by,” as Imogen 
rose to go ; “ I hope we shall meet again some 
time, and then you will tell me how you 
like Colorado, and the Piutes, and — waffles. 
I hope to live yet to see you stirring an egg 
in a glass with pepper and a 6 messy ’ lump of 


60 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


butter in true Western fashion. It’s awfully 
good, I ’ve always been told. Do forgive me 
for hoaxing you. I never thought you could 
believe me, and when I found that you did, it 
was irresistible to go on.” 

“ I can’t make out at all about Americans,” 
said Imogen, plaintively, as after an effusive 
farewell from Mrs. Page and a languid bow 
from Madame de Conflans they were at last 
suffered to escape into the street. “ There 
seem to be so many different kinds. Mrs. 
Page and her daughter are not a bit like 
each other, and Miss Opdyke is quite differ- 
ent from either of them, and none of the 
three resembles Mrs. Geoffrey Templestowe 
in the least.” 

“And neither does Buffalo Bill and your 
phrenological lecturer. Courage, Moggy. I 
told you America was a sizable place. You ’ll 
begin to take in and understand the meaning 
of the variety show after you once get over 
there.” 

“ It was queer, but do you know I could n’t 
help rather liking that girl ; ” confessed Imo- 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 61 

gen later to Isabel Templestowe. “ She was 
odd, of course, and not a bit English, but you 
could n’t say she was bad form, and she was 
so remarkably quick and bright. It seemed 
as if she had seen all sorts of things and tried 
her hand on almost everything, and was n’t a 
bit afraid to say what she thought, or to praise 
and find fault. I told you what she said about 
English bread, and she was just as rude about 
our vegetables ; she said they were only fla- 
vored with hot water. What do you suppose 
she meant ?” 

“ I believe they cook them quite differently 
in America. Geoff likes their way, and found 
a great deal of fault when he was at home 
with the cauliflower and the Brussels sprouts. 
He declared that they had no taste, and that 
mint in green-peas killed the flavor. Clover 
was too polite to say anything, but I could 
see that she thought the same. Mamma was 
quite put about with Geoff’s new notions.” 

“I must say that it seems rather imperti- 
nent and forth-putting for a new nation like 
that to be setting up opinions of its own, 


62 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


and finding fault with the good old English 
customs/’ said Imogen, petulantly. 

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Isabel; “we 
have made some changes ourselves. John 
of Gaunt or Harry Hotspur might find fault 
with us for the same reason, giving up the 
6 good old customs’ of rushes on the floor, 
for instance, and flagons of ale for break- 
fast. There were the stocks and the pillory 
too, and hanging for theft, and the torture of 
prisoners. Those were all in use more or 
less when the Pilgrims went to America, 
and I ’m sure we ’re all glad that they were 
given up. The world must move, and I sup- 
pose it ’s but natural that the new nations 
should give it its impulse.” 

“ England is good enough for me,” replied 
the practical Imogen. “ I don’t want to be in- 
structed by new countries. It ’s like a child 
in a pinafore trying to teach its grandmother 
how to do things. Now, dear Isabel, let me 
hear about your mother’s parcels.” 

Mrs. Templestowe had wisely put her gifts 
into small compass. There were two dainty 


MISS OPDYKE FROM NEW YORK. 


63 


little frocks for her grandson, and a jacket 
of her own knitting, two pairs of knicker- 
bocker stockings for Geoff, and for Clover a 
bit of old silver which had belonged to a Tem- 
plestowe in the time of the Tudors, — a double- 
handled porringer with a coat of arms en- 
graved on its somewhat dented sides. Clover, 
like most Americans, had a passion for the 
antique ; so this present was sure to please. 

“And you are really off to-morrow/’ said 
Isabel at the gate. “ How I wish I were going 
too.” 

“ And how I wish I were not going at all, 
but staying on with you,” responded Imogen. 
“ Mother says if Lionel is n’t married by the 
end of three years she’ll send Beatrice out 
to take my place. She ’ll be turned twenty 
then, and would like to come. Isabel, you ’ll 
be married before I get back, I know you 
will.” 

“ It ’s most improbable. Girls don’t marry 
in England half so easily as in America. It 
will be you who will marry, and settle over 
there permanently.” 


64 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Never ! ” cried Imogen. 

Then the two friends exchanged a last kiss 
and parted. 

“ My love to Clover,” Isabel called back. 

“ Always Clover,” thought Imogen ; but she 
smiled, and answered, “ Yes.” 


CHAPTER in. 


THE LAST OF DEVON AND THE FIRST OF 
AMERICA. 

the morrow came the parting 
m home. “ Farewell ” is never an 
y word to say when seas are to 
separate those who love each other, but the 
Young family uttered it bravely and reso- 
lutely. Lionel, who was impatient to get 
to work and to his beloved High Valley, was 
more than ready to go. His face, among the 
sober ones, looked aggressively cheerful. 

“ Cheer up, mother,” he said, consolingly. 
“ You T1 be coming over in a year or two with 
the Pater, and Moggy and I will give you such 
a good time as you never had in your lives. 
We ’ll all go up to Estes Park and camp out 
for a month. I can see you now coming down 
the trail on a burro, — what fun it will be.” 

5 



66 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“Who knows?” said Mrs. Young, with a 
smile that was half a sigh. She and her hus- 
band had sent a good many sons and daugh- 
ters out into the world to seek their fortunes, 
and so far not one of them had come back. 
To be sure, all were doing well in their several 
ways, — Cyril in India, where he had an excel- 
lent appointment, and the second boy in the 
army ; two were in the navy, and Tom and 
Giles in Van Diemen’s Land, where they were 
making a very good thing out of a sheep ranch. 
There was no reason why Lionel should not 
be equally lucky with his cattle in Colorado ; 
there were younger children to be considered ; 
it was “ all in the day’s work,” the natural 
thing. Large families must separate, parents 
could not expect to keep their grown boys 
and girls with them always. So they dis- 
missed the two who were now going forth 
cheerfully, uncomplainingly, and with their 
blessing, but all the same it was not pleasant ; 
and Mrs. Young shed some quiet tears in the 
privacy of her own room, and her husband 
looked very serious as he strode down the 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 67 

Southampton docks after saying good-by to 
his children on board the steamer. 

Imogen had never been on a great sea- 
going vessel before, and it struck her as being 
very crowded and confused as well as bewil- 
deringly big. She stood clutching her bags and 
bundles nervously and feeling homesick and 
astray while farewells and greetings went on 
about her, and the people who were going and 
those who were to stay behind seemed mixed 
in an inextricable tangle on the decks. Then 
a bell rang, and gradually the groups sepa- 
rated ; those who were not going formed them- 
selves into a black mass on the pier ; there was 
a great fluttering of handkerchiefs, a plunge 
of the screw, and the steamer was off. 

Lionel, who had been seeing to the baggage, 
now appeared, and took Imogen down to her 
stateroom, advising her to get out all her warm 
things and make ready for a rough night. 

“There’s quite a sea on outside,” he re- 
marked. “We’re in for a rolling if not for 
a pitching.” 

“ Lion ! ” cried Imogen, indignantly. “ Do 


68 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


you mean to say that you suppose I ’m going 
to be sick, — I, a Devonshire girl born and 
bred, who have lived by the sea all my life ? 
Never!” 

“Time will show,” was the oracular re- 
sponse. “Get the rugs out, any way, and 
your brushes and combs and things, and ad- 
vise Miss What-d’-you-call-her to do the same.” 

“ Miss What-d’-you-call-her ’’ was Imogen’s 
room-mate, a perfectly unknown girl, who had 
been to her imagination one of the chief bug- 
bears of the voyage. She was curled up on the 
sofa in a tumbled little heap when they en- 
tered the stateroom, had evidently been cry- 
ing, and did not look at all formidable, being 
no older than Imogen, very small and shy, a 
soft, dark-eyed appealing creature, half Eng- 
lish, half Belgic by extraction, and going out, 
it appeared, to join a lover who for three 
years had been in California making ready 
for her. He was to meet her in New York, 
with a clergyman in his pocket, so to speak, 
and as soon as the marriage ceremony was 
performed, they were to set out for their 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 69 

ranch in the San Gabriel Valley, to raise 
grapes, dry raisins, and “ live happily all the 
days of their lives afterward,” like the prince 
and princess of a fairy tale. 

These confidences were not made immedi- 
ately or all at once, but gradually, as the two 
girls became acquainted, and mutual suffer- 
ing endeared them to each other. For, spite 
of Imogen’s Devonshire bringing up, the Eng- 
lish Channel proved too much for her, and she 
had to endure two pretty bad days before, 
promoted from gruel to dry toast, and from 
dry toast to beef-tea, she was able to be 
helped on deck, and seated, well wrapped up, 
in a reclining chair to inhale the cold, salty 
wind which was the best and only medicine 
for her particular kind of ailment. 

The chair next hers was occupied by a 
pretty, dark-eyed, and very lady-like woman, 
with whom Lionel had apparently made an 
acquaintance ; for he said, as he tucked Imo- 
gen’s rugs about her, “ Here ’s my sister at 
last, you see;” which off-hand introduction 
the lady acknowledged with a pleasant smile, 


70 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


saying she was glad to see Miss Young able 
to be up. Her manner was so unaffected 
and cordial that Imogen’s stiffness melted un- 
der its influence, and before she knew it they 
were talking quite like old acquaintances. 

Imogen was struck by the sweet voice of 
the stranger, with its well-bred modulations, 
and also by the good taste and perfection of 
all her little appointments, from the down 
pillow at top of her chair to the fur-trimmed 
shoes on a pair of particularly pretty feet at 
the other end. She set her down in her own 
mind as a London dame of fashion, — perhaps 
a countess, or a Lady Something-or-other, 
who was going out to see America. 

“Your brother tells me this is your first 
voyage,” said the lady. 

“ Yes. He has been out before, but none 
of us were with him. It is all perfectly 
strange to me” — with a sigh. 

“ Why do you sigh ? Don’t you expect to 
like it?” 

“ Why no, not like, it exactly. Of course 
I ’m glad to be with Lionel and of use 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 71 

to him, but I did n’t come away from home 
for pleasure.” 

“ Pleasure must come to you, then,” said 
the lady, with a smile. “ And really I don’t 
see why it should n’t. In the first place you 
are acting the part of a good sister ; and 
you know the adage about duty performed 
making rainbows in the soul. And then Col- 
orado is a beautiful State, with the finest of 
mountain views, a wonderful climate, and 
such wild flowers as grow nowhere else. I 
have some friends living there who are quite 
infatuated about it. They say there is no 
place so delightful in the world.” 

“That is just the way with my brother. 
It ’s really absurd the way he talks about it. 
You would think it was better than England ! ” 

“It is sure to be very different; but all 
the same, you will like it, I think.” 

“ I hope so ” — doubtfully. 

Just then came an interruption in the shape 
of a tall girl of fifteen or sixteen, with a sweet, 
childish face who came running down the 
deck accompanied by a maid, and seized the 
strange lady’s hand. 


72 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“Mamma,” she began, “the first officer 
says that if you are willing he will take me 
across to the bows to see the rainbows on the 
foam. May I go ? He says Anne can go 
too/’ 

“Yes, certainly, if Mr. Graves will take 
charge of you. But first speak to this young 
lady, who is the sister of Mr. Young, who 
was so kind about playing ship-coil with you 
yesterday, and tell her you are glad she is 
able to be on deck. Then you can go, 
Amy.” 

Amy turned a pair of beautiful, long-lashed, 
gray eyes on Imogen. 

“ I ’m glad you ’re better, Miss Young. 
Mamma and I were sorry you were so sick,” 
she said, with a frank politeness that was 
charming. “ It must be very disagreeable.” 

“ Have n’t you been sick, then ? ” said 
Imogen, holding fast the little hand that was 
put in hers. 

“ No, I ’m never sick now . I was, though, 
the first time we came over, and I behaved 
awfully. Do you recollect, mamma?” 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 73 

“ Only too well,” said her mother, laughing. 
“ You were like a caged bird, beating your- 
self against the bars in desperation.” 

Amy lingered a moment, while a dimple 
played in her pink cheek as if she were 
moved by some amusing remembrance. 

“ Ah, there ’s Mr. Graves,” she said. “ I 
must go. I’ll come back presently and tell 
you about the rainbows, mamma.” 

“ I suppose most of these people on board 
are Americans,” said Imogen after a little 
pause. “ It ’s always easy to tell them, don’t 
you think ? ” 

“ Not always. Yes, I suppose a good many 
of them are — or call themselves so.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ call themselves 
so ’ ? That girl is one, I am sure,” indicating 
a pretty, stylish young person, who was talk- 
ing rather too loudly for good taste with the 
ship’s doctor. 

“ Yes, I imagine she is.” 

“And those people over there,” pointing 
to a large, red-bearded man who lay back in 
a sea-chair reading a novel, by the side of a 


74 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


fat wife who read another, while their little 
boy raced up and down the deck quite un- 
heeded, and amused himself by pulling the 
rugs off the knees of the sicker passengers. 
“ They are Americans, I know ! Did you ever 
see such creatures ? The idea of letting that 
child make a nuisance of himself like that! 
No one but an American would allow it. I ’ve 
always heard that children in the States do 
exactly as they please, and the grown people 
never interfere with them in the least.” 

“ General rules are dangerous things,” said 
her neighbor, with an odd little smile. “ Now, 
as it happens, I know all about those people. 
They call themselves Americans because they 
have lived in Buffalo for ten years and are 
naturalized ; but he was born in Scotland and 
she in Wales, and the child doesn’t belong 
exactly to any country, for he happened to 
be born at sea. You see you can’t always 
tell.” 

“ Do you mean, then, that they are English, 
after all?” cried Imogen, disconcerted and 
surprised. 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 75 

“ Oh, no. Every body is an American who 
has taken the oath of allegiance. Those 
Polish Jews over there are Americans, and 
that Italian couple also, and the big party of 
Germans who are sitting between the boats. 
The Germans have a large shop in New York, 
and go out every year to buy goods and tell 
their relations how superior the United States 
are to Breslau. They are all Americans, 
though you would scarcely suppose it to look 
at them. America is like a pudding, — plums 
from one part of the world, and spice from 
another, and flour and sugar and flavoring 
from somewhere else, but all known by the; 
name of pudding.’' 

“ How very, very odd. Somehow I never 
thought of it before in that light. Are there 
no real Americans, then? Are they all for- 
eigners who have been naturalized ? ” 

“ Oh, no. It is not so bad as that. There 
are a great many ‘ real Americans.’ I am 
one, for example.” 

“You!” There was such a world of un- 
feigned surprise in Imogen’s tone that it was 
impossible for her new friend not to laugh. 


76 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I. Did you not know it ? What did you 
take me for ? ” 

“ Why, English of course, like myself. You 
are exactly like an English person.” 

“ I suppose you mean it for a compliment ; 
thank you, therefore. I like England very 
much, so I don’t mind being taken for an 
English woman.” 

“ Of course you don’t,” said Imogen, staring. 
“ It’s the height of an American’s ambition, 
I’ve always heard, to be thought English.” 

“ There you are mistaken. There are a 
few foolish people who feel so no doubt, and 
all of us would be glad to copy what is best 
and nicest in English ways and manners, 
but a really good American likes his own 
country best of all, and would rather seem to 
belong to it than any other.” 

“And I was thinking how different your 
daughter is from the American girls ! ” said 
Imogen, continuing her own train of thought ; 
“ and how her manners were so pretty, 
and did such credit to us, and would sur- 
prise people over there! How very odd. 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 77 

I shall never get to understand the Ameri- 
cans. They ’re so different from each other 
as well as from us. There were some ladies 
from New York at Bideford the other day, — 
a Mrs. Page and a Comtesse de Something-or- 
other, her daughter, and a Miss Opdyke from 
New York. She was very pretty and really 
quite nice, though rather queer, but all three 
were as unlike each other as they could be. 
Do you know them in America?” 

“ Not Miss Opdyke ; but I have met Mrs. 
Page once in Europe a good while since. 
It was before her daughter was married. 
She is a relative of my sister-in-law, Mrs. 
Worthington.” 

“Do you mean the Mrs. Worthington 
whose husband is in the navy ? Why, that ’s 
Mrs. Geoffrey Templestowe’s sister ! ” 

“ Do you know Clover Templestowe, then ? ” 
said the lady, surprised in her turn. “ That is 
really curious. Was it in England that you 
met?” 

“Yes, and we are on our way to her neigh- 
borhood now. My brother has bought a share 


78 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


in Geoff’s business, and we are going to live 
near them at High Valley.” 

“ I do call this an extraordinary coincidence. 
Amy, come here and listen. This young lady 
is on her way to Colorado, to live close to Aunt 
Clover • what do you think of that for a sur- 
prise ? I don ’t wonder that you open your 
eyes so wide. Isn’t it just like a story-book 
that she should have come and sat down in the 
next chair to ours ? ” 

“ It ’s so funny that I can’t believe it, till I 
take time to think,” said Amy, perching her- 
self on the arm of her mother’s seat. “ Just 
think, you ’ll see Elsie and her baby, and 
Aunt Clover’s baby, and Uncle Geoff and 
Phil, and all of them. It ’s the beautifulest 
place out there that you ever saw. There 
are whole droves of horses, and you ride all 
the while, and when you’re not riding you 
can pick flowers and play with the babies. 
Oh, I wish I were going with you ; it would 
be such fun ! ” 

“ But are n’t you coming ? ” said Imogen, 
much taken by the frankness of the little 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 79 

American maid. “ Coax mamma to fetch 
you out this summer, and come and make me 
a visit. We’re going to have a little cabin 
of our own, and I ’d be delighted to have 
you. Is it far from where you live?” 

“ Well, it’s what you would call ‘ a goodish 
bit’ in England,” replied Mrs. Ashe, — “two 
thousand miles or so, nearly three days’ jour- 
ney. Amy would be charmed to come, I am 
sure, but I am afraid the distance will stand 
in her way. One doesn’t 6 step out’ to Col- 
orado every summer, but perhaps we may 
be there some day, and then we shall cer- 
tainly hope to see you.” 

This encounter wdth Mrs. Ashe, who was, in 
a way, part of the family with whom Imogen 
expected to be most intimately associated 
in America, made the remainder of the voy- 
age very pleasant. They sat together for 
hours every day, talking, and reading, and 
gradually Imogen waked up to the fact that 
American life and society was a much more 
complex and less easily understood affair than 
she had imagined. 


80 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


The weather was favorable when the first 
rough days were past, and after they rounded 
the curve of the wide sea hemisphere and be- 
gan to near the American coast it became 
beautiful, with high-arching skies and very 
bright sunsets. Accustomed to the low-hung 
grays and struggling sunbeams of southern 
England, Imogen could not get used to these 
novelties. Her surprise over the dazzle of 
the day and the clear, vivid blue of the heav- 
ens was a continual amusement and joy to 
Mrs. Ashe, who took a patriotic pride in her 
own climate, and, as it were, made herself re- 
sponsible for it. 

Then came the eventful morning, when, 
rousing to the first glow of dawn, they found 
the screw motionless, and the steamer lying 
off a green island, with a big barrack-build- 
ing on it, over which waved the American 
flag. The health officer made his visit, and be- 
fore long they were steaming up the wide bay 
of New York, between green, flowery shores, 
under the colossal Liberty, whose outstretched 
arm seemed to point to the dim rich mass of 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 81 

roofs and towers and spires of the city which 
lay beyond. Then they neared the landing- 
stage, where a black mass of people stood 
waiting them, and Amy gave a cry of delight 
as she saw a gold-banded cap among them, 
and recognized her Uncle Ned. 

The little Anglo-Belgian had been more 
or less ill all the way over, and looked pale 
and wan, though still very pretty, as she 
stood with the rest, gazing at the crowd of 
faces, all of whose eyes were turned toward 
the steamer. Imogen, who had helped her to 
dress, remained protectingly by her side. 

“ What shall you do if he does n’t happen 
to be there ? ” she asked, smitten with a sud- 
den fear. “ Something might detain him, you 
know.” 

“ I — I — am not sure,” turning pale. “ Oh, 
yes, I am,” rallying. “ He have aunt in How- 
bokken. I go there and wait. But he not fail ; 
he will be here.” Then her eyes suddenly lit up, 
and she exclaimed with a little shriek of joy, 
“ He are here ! That is he standing by the big 
timber. My Karl ! my Karl ! He are here ! ” 
6 


82 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


There indeed he was, foremost in the 
throng, a tall, brown, handsome fellow, with 
a nice, strong face, and such a look of love 
and expectation in his eyes that prosaic Imo- 
gen suddenly felt that it might be worth 
while, after all, to cross half the world to 
meet a look and a husband like that, — a fact 
which she had disbelieved till now, demurring 
also in her private mind as to the propriety of 
such a thing. It was pretty to see the tender 
happiness in the girl’s face, and the answering 
expression of her lover’s. It seemed to put 
poetry and pathos into an otherwise common- 
place scene. The gang-plank was lowered, a 
crowd of people surged ashore, to be met by 
a corresponding surge from the on-lookers, 
and in the midst of it Lieutenant Worthing- 
ton leaped aboard and hastened to where his 
sister stood waiting him. 

“ You ’re coming up to Newport with me at 
five-thirty,” were his first words. “Katy’s 
all ready, and means to sit up till the boat 
gets in at two-thirty, keeping a little supper 
hot and hot for you. The Torpedo Station is 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 83 

in its glory just now, and there ’s going to be 
a great explosion on Thursday, which Amy 
will enjoy.” 

“ How lovely ! ” cried Amy, clinging to her 
uncle’s arm. “ I love explosions. Why did n’t 
Tanta come too ? — I’m in such a hurry to 
see her.” 

Then Mr. Worthington asked to be intro- 
duced to Imogen and Lionel, and explained 
that acting on a request from Geoffrey Temple- 
stowe, he had taken rooms for them at a hotel, 
and secured their tickets and sleeping sections 
in the “ limited ” train for the next day. 

“ And I told them to save two seats for 
Rip Van Winkle to-night till you got there,” 
he added. “ If you ’re not too tired I advise 
you to go. Jefferson is an experience which 
you ought not to miss, and you may never 
have another chance.” 

a IIow awfully kind your brother is,” said 
the surprised Imogen to Mrs. Ashe ; “ all this 
trouble, and he never saw either of us before ! 
It ’s very good of him.” 

“ Oh, that ’s nothing. That ’s the way 


84 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


American men do. They are perfect dears, 
there ’s no doubt as to that, and they don’t 
consider anything a trouble which helps along 
a friend or a friend’s friend. It’s a matter 
of course over here.” 

“ Well, I don’t consider it a matter of course 
at all. I think it extraordinary, and it was so 
very nice in Geoff to send word to Lion.” 

Then they parted. Meanwhile the little 
room-mate had been having a private con- 
ference with her “ young man.” She now 
joined Imogen. 

“Karl says we shall be married directly, 
in a church, in half an hour,” she told her. 
“ And oh, won’t you and Mr. Young come 
to be with us ? It is so sad not to have one 
friend when one is married.” 

It was impossible to refuse this request ; so 
it happened that the very first thing Imogen 
did in America was to attend a wedding. It 
took place in an old church, pretty far down 
town; and she always afterward carried in 
her mind the picture of it, dim and sombre 
in coloring, with the afternoon sun pouring 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 85 

in through a rich rose window and throwing 
blue and red reflections on the little group 
of five at the altar, while from outside came 
the din of wheels and the unceasing tread of 
busy feet. The service was soon over, the sig- 
natures were made, and the little bride went 
down the chancel on her husband’s arm, with 
her face appropriately turned to the west, and 
with such a look of secure and unfearing hap- 
piness upon it as was good to see. It was an 
unusual and typical scene with which to begin 
life in a new country, and Imogen liked to 
think afterward that she had been there. 

Then followed a long drive up town over 
rough ill-laid pavements, through dirty streets, 
varied by dirtier streets, and farther up, by 
those that were less dirty. Imogen had never 
seen anything so shabby as the poorest of 
the buildings that they passed, and certainly 
never anything quite so fine as the best of 
them. Squalor and splendor jostled each 
other side by side ; everywhere there was the 
same endless throng of hurrying people, and 
everywhere the same abundance of flowers 


86 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


for sale, in pots, in baskets, in bunches, mak- 
ing the whole air of the streets sweet. Then 
they came to the hotel, and were shown to 
their rooms, — high up, airy, and nicely fur- 
nished, though Imogen was at first disposed 
to cavil at the absence of bed-curtains. 

“ It looks so bare,” she complained. “ At 
home such a thing would be considered very 
odd, very odd indeed. Fancy a bed without 
curtains ! ” 

“ After you've spent one hot night in 
America you 'll be glad enough to fancy it,” 
replied her brother. “ Stuffy old things. It 's 
only in cold weather that one could endure 
them over here.” 

The first few hours on shore after a voyage 
have a delightfulness all their own. It is so 
pleasant to bathe and dress without having 
to hold on and guard against lurches and tips. 
Imogen went about her toilet well-pleased ; 
and her pleasure was presently increased 
when she found on her dressing-table a beau- 
tiful bunch of summer roses, with “ Mrs. Geof- 
frey Templestowe's love and welcome ” on a 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 87 

card lying beside it. Thoughtful Clover had 
written to Ned Worthington to see to this 
little attention, and the pleasure it gave went 
even farther than she had hoped. 

“ I declare,” said Imogen, sitting down 
with the flowers before her, “I never knew 
anybody so kind as they all are. I don’t 
feel half so home-sick as I expected. I must 
write mamma about these roses. Of course 
Mrs. Geoff does it for Isabel’s sake ; but all 
the same it is awfully nice of her, and I shall 
try not to forget it.” 

Then, when, after finishing her dressing, 
she drew the blinds up and looked from the 
windows, she gave a cry of sheer pleasure, 
for there beneath was spread out a beautiful 
wide distance of Park with feathery trees and 
belts of shrubs, behind which the sun was 
making ready to set in a crimson sky. There 
was a balcony outside the windows, and Imo- 
gen pulled a chair out on it to enjoy the 
view. Carriages were rolling in at the Park 
gates, looking exactly like the equipages one 
sees in London, with fat coachmen, glossy 


88 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


horses, and jingling silvered harness. Girls 
and young men were cantering along the 
bridle-paths, and throngs of well-dressed peo- 
ple filled the walks. Beyond was a fairy lake, 
where gondolas shot to and fro; a band 
was playing ; from still farther away came a 
peal of chimes from a church tower. 

“ And this is New York ! ” thought Imogen. 
Then her thoughts reverted to Miss Opdyke 
and her tale of the Tammany Indians, and she 
flushed with sudden vexation. 

“ What an idiot she must have considered 
me ! ” she reflected. 

But her insular prejudices revived in full 
force as a knock was heard, and a colored 
boy, entering with a tinkling pitcher, in- 
quired, “ Did you ring for ice-water, lady ? ” 

“ No ! ” said Imogen sharply ; “ I never 
drink iced water. I rang for hot water, but I 
got it more than an hour ago.” 

“ Beg pardon, lady.” 

“ Why on earth does he call me ‘ lady ’ ? ” 
she murmured — “ so tiresome and vulgar ! ” 

Then Lionel came for her, and they went 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 89 

down to dinner, — a wonderful repast, with 
soups and fishes and vegetables quite un- 
known to her; a bewildering succession of 
meats and entrees, strawberries such as she 
had supposed did not grow outside of Eng- 
land, raspberries and currants such as Eng- 
land never knew, and wonderful blackberries, 
of great size and sweetness, bursting with pur- 
ple juice. There were ices too, served in the 
shapes of apples, pears, and stalks of aspara- 
gus, which dazzled her country eyes not a 
little, while the whole was a terror and as- 
tonishment to her thrifty English mind. 

“Lionel, don’t keep on ordering things 
so,” she protested. “We are eating our 
heads off as it is, I am sure.” 

“ My dear young friend, you are come to 
the Land of Fat Things,” he replied. “ Din- 
ner costs just the same, once you sit down 
to it, whether you have a biscuit and a glass 
of water, or all these things.” 

“ I call it a sinful waste, then,” she re- 
torted. “But all the same, since it is so, 
I ’ll take another ice.” 


90 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ 6 First endure, then pity, then embrace/ ” 
quoted her brother. “ That ’s right, Moggy ; 
pitch in, spoil the Egyptians. It does n’t 
hurt them, and it will do you lots of good.” 

From the dinner-table they went straight 
to the theatre, having decided to follow Lieut. 
Worthington’s advice and see “Rip Van 
Winkle.” And then they straightway fell 
under the spell of a magician who has en- 
chanted many thousands before them, and 
for the space of two hours forgot themselves, 
their hopes and fears and expectations, while 
they followed the fortunes of the idle, lov- 
able, unpractical Rip, up the mountain to his 
sleep of years, and down again, white-haired 
and tottering, to find himself forgotten by his 
kin and a stranger in his own home. Peo- 
ple about them were weeping on relays of 
pocket-handkerchiefs, hanging them up one 
by one as they became soaked, and begin- 
ning on others. Imogen had but one hand- 
kerchief, but she cried with that till she had 
to borrow Lionel’s; and he, though he pro- 
fessed to be very stoical, could not quite 


LAST OF DEVON AND FIRST OF AMERICA. 91 


oommand his voice as he tried to chaff her in 
a whisper on her emotions, and begged her 
to “ dry up ” and remember that it was only 
a play after all, and that presently Jefferson 
would discard his white hair and wrinkles, go 
home to a good supper, and make a jolly 
end to the evening. 

It was almost too exciting for a first night 
on shore, and if Imogen had not been so 
tired, and if her uncurtained bed had not 
proved so deliciously comfortable, she would 
scarcely have slept as she did till half-past 
seven the next morning, so that they had to 
scramble through breakfast not to lose their 
train. Once started in the “ Limited,” with a 
library and a lady’s-maid, a bath and a bed 
at her disposal, and just beyond a daintily ap- 
pointed dinner-table adorned with fresh flow- 
ers, — all at forty miles an hour, — she had 
leisure to review her situation and be aston- 
ished. Bustling cities shot past them, — or 
seemed to shoot, — beautifully kept country- 
seats, shabby suburbs where goats and pigs 
mounted guard over shanties and cabbage- 


92 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


beds, great tracts of wild forest, factory towns 
black with smoke, rivers winding between 
blue hill ridges, prairie-like expanses so over- 
grown with wild-flowers that they looked all 
pink or all blue, — everything by turns and 
nothing long. It seemed the sequence of 
the unexpected, a succession of rapidly chang- 
ing surprises, for which it was impossible to 
prepare beforehand. 

“ I shall never learn to understand it,” 
thought poor perplexed Imogen. 


CHAPTER IV. 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 

EANWHILE, as the “ Limited ” bore 
the young English travellers on 
their western way, a good deal of 
preparation was going on for their benefit in 
that special nook of the Rocky mountains to- 
ward which their course was directed. It 
was one of those clear-cut, jewel-like morn- 
ings which seem peculiar to Colorado, with 
dazzling gold sunshine, a cloudless sky of deep 
sapphire blue, and air which had touched the 
mountain snows somewhere in its nightly 
blowing, and still carried on its wings the 
cool pure zest of the contact. 

Hours were generally early in the High 
Valley, but to-day they were a little ear- 
lier than usual, for every one had a sense 
of much to be done. Clover Templestowe 




94 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


did not always get up to administer to her 
husband and brother-in-law their 66 stirrup- 
cup ” of coffee; but this morning she was 
prompt at her post, and after watching them 
ride up the valley, and standing for a moment 
at the open door for a breath of the scented 
wind, she seated herself at her sewing-ma- 
chine. A steady whirring hum presently 
filled the room, rising to the floor above and 
quickening the movements there. Elsie, run- 
ning rapidly downstairs half an hour later, 
found her sister with quite a pile of little 
cheese-cloth squares and oblongs folded on 
the table near her. 

“ Dear me ! are those the Youngs’ curtains 
you are doing ? ” she asked. “ I fully meant 
to get down early and finish my half. That 
wretched little Phillida elected to wake up 
and demand ‘ ’tories ’ from one o’clock till a 
quarter past two. 6 Hence these tears.’ I 
overslept myself without knowing it.” 

Phillida was Elsie’s little girl, two years 
and a half old now, and Dr. Carr’s namesake. 

“ How bad of her ! ” said Clover, smiling. 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


95 


“ I wish children could be born with a sense 
of the fitness of times and seasons. Jeffy is 
pretty good as to sleeping, but he is dreadful 
about eating. Half the time he does n’t want 
anything at dinner; and then at half-past 
three, or a quarter to eight, or ten minutes 
after twelve, or some such uncanonical 
hour, he is so ragingly hungry that he can 
scarcely wait till I fetch him something. He 
is so tiresome about his bath too. Fancy a 
young semi-Britain objecting to ‘ tub.’ I ’ve 
circumvented him to-day, however, for Geoff 
has promised to wash him while you and I 
go up to set the new house in order. Baby 
is always good with Geoff.” 

“So he is,” remarked Elsie as she moved 
about giving little tidying touches here and 
there to books and furniture. “ I never knew 
a father and child who suited each other so 
perfectly. Phil flirts with Clarence and he is 
very proud of her notice, but I think they are 
mutually rather shy ; and he always touches 
her as though she were a bit of eggshell 
N china, that he was afraid of breaking.” 


96 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


The room in which the sisters were talking 
bore little resemblance to the bare ranch- 
parlor of old days. It had been enlarged by 
a semi-circular bay window toward the moun- 
tain view, which made it half as long again as 
it then was ; and its ceiling had been raised 
two feet on the occasion of Clarence’s mar- 
riage, when great improvements had been 
undertaken to fit the “ hut ” for the occupa- 
tion of two families. The solid redwood 
beams which supported the floor above had 
been left bare, and lightly oiled to bring out 
the pale russet-orange color of the wood. 
The spaces between the beams were rough- 
plastered ; and on the decoration of this 
plaster, while in a soft state, a good deal of 
time had been expended by Geoffrey Temple- 
stowe, who had developed a turn for house- 
hold art, and seemed to enjoy lying for hours 
on his back on a staging, clad in pajamas and 
indenting the plaster with rosettes and sunken 
half-rounds, using a croquet ball and a butter 
stamp alternately, the whole being subse- 
quently finished by a coat of dull gold paint. 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


97 


He and Clover had themselves hung the walls 
with its pale orange-brown paper; a herder 
with a turn for carpentry had laid the new 
floor of narrow redwood boards. Clover had 
stained the striped pattern along its edges. 
In that remote spot, where trained and regular 
assistance could be had only at great trouble 
and expense, it was desirable that every one 
should utilize whatever faculty or accomplish- 
ment he or she possessed, and the result was 
certainly good. The big, homelike room, 
with its well-chosen colors and look of taste 
and individuality, left nothing to be desired 
in the way of comfort, and was far prettier 
and more original than if ordered cut-and- 
dried from some artist in effects, to whom its 
doing would have been simply a job and not 
an enjoyment. 

Clover’s wedding presents had furnished part 
of the rugs and etchings and bits of china 
which ornamented the room, but Elsie’s, who 
had married into a "present-giving connection,” 
as her sister Johnnie called it, did even more. 
Each sister was supposed to own a private 

7 


98 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


sitting-room, made out of the little sleeping- 
chambers of what Clarence Page stigmatized 
as the “ beggarly bachelor days,” which were 
thrown together two in one on either side 
the common room. Clover and Elsie had 
taken pains and pleasure in making these 
pretty and different from each other, but as 
a matter of fact the “ private” parlors were 
not private at all; for the two families were 
such very good friends that they generally 
preferred to be together. And the rooms 
were chiefly of use when the house was full 
of guests, as in the summer it sometimes was, 
when Johnnie had a girl or two staying with 
her, or a young man with a tendency toward 
corners, or when Dr. Carr wanted to escape 
from his young people and analyze flowers at 
leisure or read his newspaper in peace and 
quiet. 

The big room in the middle was used by 
both families as a dining and sitting place. 
Behind it another had been added, which 
served as a sort of mixed library, office, dis- 
pensary, and storage-room, and over the four, 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


99 


extending to the very edge of the wide veran- 
das which flanked the house on three sides, 
were six large bedrooms. Of these each fam- 
ily owned three, and they had an equal right 
as well to the spare rooms in the building 
which had once been the kitchen. One of 
these, called “ Phil’s room,” was kept as a 
matter of course for the use of that young 
gentleman, who, while nominally studying 
law in an office at St. Helen’s, contrived to 
get out to the Valley very frequently. The 
interests of the party were so identical that 
the matter of ownership seldom came up, 
and signified little. The sisters divided the 
house-keeping between them amicably, one 
supplementing the other; the improvements 
were paid for out of a common purse ; their 
guests, being equally near and dear, belonged 
equally to all. It was an ideal arrangement, 
which one quick tongue or jealous or hasty 
temper would have brought to speedy con- 
clusion, but which had now lasted to the 
satisfaction of all parties concerned for nearly 
four years. 


100 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


That Clarence and Elsie should fancy 
each other had been a secret though uncon- 
fessed dream of Clover’s ever since her own 
engagement, when Clarence had endeared 
himself by his manly behavior and real un- 
selfishness under trying circumstances. But 
these dreams are rarely gratified, and she was 
not at all prepared to have hers come true 
with such unexpected ease and rapidity. It 
happened on this wise. Six months after her 
marriage, when she and Geoff and Clarence, 
working together, had just got the “ hut 19 
into a state to receive visitors, Mr. and Mrs. 
Dayton, who had never forgotten or lost their 
interest in their pretty fellow-traveller of two 
years before, hearing from Mrs. Ashe how de- 
sirous Clover was of a visit from her father 
and sisters, wrote and asked the Carrs to go 
out with them in car 47 as far as Denver, and 
be picked up and brought back two months 
later when the Daytons returned from Alaska. 
The girls were wild to go, it seemed an oppor- 
tunity too good to be lost ; so the invitation 
was accepted, and. as sometimes happens, the 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


101 


kindness shown had an unlooked-for return. 
Mr. Dayton was seized with a sudden ill turn 
on the journey, of a sort to which he was 
subject, and Dr. Carr was able not only to 
help him at the moment, but to suggest a 
regimen and treatment which was of perma- 
nent benefit to him. Doctor and patient grew 
very fond of each other, and every year since, 
when car 47 started on its western course, ur- 
gent invitations came for any or all of them 
to take advantage of it and go out to see 
Clover ; whereby that hospitable housekeeper 
gained many visits which otherwise she would 
never have had, Colorado journeys being ex- 
pensive luxuries. 

But this is anticipating. No visit, they all 
agreed, ever compared with that first one, when 
they were so charmed to meet, and every- 
thing was new and surprising and delightful. 
The girls were enchanted with the Valley, 
the climate, the wild fresh life, the riding, the 
flowers, with Clover’s little home made pretty 
and convenient by such simple means, 
while Dr. Carr revelled in the splendid air, 


102 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


which seemed to lift the burden of years 
from his shoulders. 

And presently began the excitement of 
watching Clarence Page’s rapid and success- 
ful wooing of Elsie. No grass grew under his 
feet this time, you may be sure. He fell in 
love the very first evening, deeply and heart- 
ily, and he lost no opportunity of letting Elsie 
know his sentiments. There was no rival in his 
way at the High Valley or elsewhere, and the 
result seemed to follow as a matter of course. 
They were engaged when the party went 
back to Burnet, and married the following 
spring, Mr. Dayton fitting up 47 with all 
manner of sentimental and delightful appoint- 
ments, and sending the bride and bridegroom 
out in it, — as a wedding present, he said, but 
in truth the car was a repository of wedding 
presents, for all the rugs and portieres and 
silken curtains and brass plaques and pretty 
pottery with which it was adorned, and the 
flower-stands and Japanese kakemonos, were 
to disembark at St. Helen’s and help to deco- 
rate Elsie’s new home. All went as was 


m THE HIGH VALLEY. 


103 


planned, and Clarence’s life from that day to 
this had been, as Clover mischievously told 
him, one paean of thanksgiving to her for re- 
fusing him and opening the way to real hap- 
piness. Elsie suited him to perfection. Every- 
thing she said and did and suggested was 
exactly to his mind, and as for looks, Clover 
was dear and nice as could be, of course, and 
pretty, — well, yes, people would undoubtedly 
consider her a pretty little woman ; but as for 
any comparison between the two sisters, it 
was quite out of the question ! Elsie had so 
decidedly the advantage in every point, in- 
cluding that most important point of all, that 
she preferred him to Geoff Templestowe and 
loved him as heartily as he loved her. Happi- 
ness and satisfied affection had a wonderfully 
softening influence on Clarence, but it was 
equally droll and delightful to Clover to see 
how absolutely Elsie ruled, how the least 
indication of her least finger availed to mould 
Clarence to her will, — Clarence, who had 
never yielded easily to any one else in the 
whole course of his life! 


104 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


So the double life flowed smoothly on in 
the High Valley, but not quite so happily at 
Burnet, where Dr. Carr, bereft of four out of 
his six children, was left to the companion- 
ship of the steady Dorry, and what he was 
pleased to call “ a highly precarious tenure 
of Miss Joanna.” Miss Joanna was a good 
deal more attractive than her father desired 
her to be. He took gloomy views of the 
situation, was disposed to snub any young 
man who seemed to be casting glances toward 
his last remaining treasure, and finally an- 
nounced that when Fate dealt her last and 
final blow and carried off Johnnie, he should 
give up the practice of medicine in Burnet, 
and retire to the High Valley to live as phy- 
sician in ordinary to the community for the 
rest of his days. This prospect was so alluring 
to the married daughters that they turned at 
once into the veriest match-makers and were 
disposed to marry Johnnie off immediately, — 
it didn’t much matter to whom, so long as 
they could get possession of their father. 
Johnnie resented these manoeuvres highly, 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


105 


and obstinately refused to “ remove the im- 
pediment/’ declaring that self-sacrifice was 
all very well, but she could n’t and would n’t 
see that it was her duty to go off and be con- 
tent with a dull anybody, merely for the 
sake of giving papa up to that greedy Clover 
and Elsie, who had everything in the world 
already and yet were not content. She liked 
to be at the head of the Burnet house and 
rule with a rod of iron, and make Dorry mind 
his y s and q’s ; it was much better fun than 
marrying any one, and there she was deter- 
mined to stay, whatever they might say or 
do. So matters stood at the present time, and 
though Clover and Elsie still cherished little 
private plans of their own, nothing, so far, 
seemed likely to come of them. 

Elsie had time to set the room in beautiful 
order, and Clover had nearly finished her 
hemming, before the sound of hoofs announced 
the return of the two husbands from their 
early ride. They came cantering down the 
side pass, with appetites sharpened by exer- 
cise, and quite ready for the breakfast which 


106 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Choo Loo presently brought in from the new 
cooking-cabin, set a little one side out of 
sight, in the shelter of the grove. Choo Loo 
was still a fixture in the valley. He and his 
methods were a puzzle and somewhat of a 
distress to the order-loving Clover, who dis- 
trusted not a little the ways and means of 
his mysteriously conducted kitchen ; but ser- 
vants were so hard to come by at the High 
Valley, and Choo Loo was so steady and 
faithful and his viands on the whole so good, 
that she judged it wise to ask no questions 
and not look too closely into affairs but just 
take the goods the gods provided, and be 
thankful that she had any cook at all. Choo 
Loo was an amiable heathen also, and very 
pleased to serve ladies, who appreciated his 
attempts at decoration, for he had an eye for 
effect and loved to make things pretty. Clover 
understood this and never forgot to notice and 
praise, which gratified Choo Loo, who had 
found his bachelor employers in the old days 
somewhat dull and unobservant in this respect. 

“ Missie like ? ” he asked this morning, in- 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


107 


dicating the wreath of wild cranberry vine 
round the dish of chicken. Then he set a 
mound of white raspberries in the middle of 
the table, starred with gold-hearted brown 
coreopsis, and asked again, “ Missie like dat ? ” 
pleased at Clover’s answering nod and smile. 
Noiselessly he came and went in his white- 
shod feet, fetching in one dish after another, 
and when all was done, making a sort of 
dual salaam to the two ladies, and remarking 
“ Allee yeady now,” after which he departed, 
his pigtail swinging from side to side and 
his blue cotton garments flapping in the wind 
as he walked across to the cook-house. 

Delicious breaths of roses and mignonette 
floated in as the party gathered about the 
breakfast table. They came from the flower- 
beds just outside, which Clover sedulously 
tended, watered, and defended from the rov- 
ing cattle, which showed a provoking prefer- 
ence for heliotropes over penstamens whenever 
they had a chance to get at them. Cows were 
a great trial, she considered; and yet after 
all they were the object of their lives in the 


108 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Valley, their raison d’etre, and must be put 
up with accordingly. 

“ Do you suppose the Youngs have landed 
yet?” asked Elsie as she qualified her hus- 
band’s coffee with a dash of thick cream. 

“ They should have got in last night if the 
steamer made her usual time. I dare say we 
shall find a telegram at St. Helen’s to-morrow 
if we go in,” answered her brother-in-law. 

“ Yes, or possibly Phil will ride out and 
fetch it. He is always glad of an excuse to 
come. I wonder what sort of girl Miss Young 
is. You and Clover never have said much 
about her.” 

“ There is n’t much to say. She ’s just an 
ordinary sort of girl, — nice enough and all 
that, not pretty.” 

“ Oh, Geoff, that ’s not quite fair. She ’s 
rather pretty, that is, she would be if she 
were not stiff and shy and so very badly 
dressed. I didn’t get on very much with her 
at Clovelly, but I dare say we shall like her 
here; and when she limbers out and be- 
comes used to our ways, she ’ll make a nice 
neighbor.” 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


109 


“Dear me, I hope so,” remarked Elsie. 
“It’s really quite important what sort of a 
girl Miss Young turns out to be. A stiff per- 
son whom you had to see every day would 
be horrid and spoil everything. The only 
thing we need, the only possible improve- 
ment to the High Valley, would be a few 
more nice people, just two or three, with 
pretty little houses, you know, dotted here 
and there in the side canyons, whom we 
could ride up to visit, and who would come 
down to see us, and dine and play whist and 
dance Virginia reels and ‘ Sally Waters’ on 
Christmas Eve. That would be quite per- 
fect. But I suppose it won’t happen till 
nobody knows how long.” 

“I suppose so, too,” said Geoff in a tone 
of well-simulated sympathy. “Poor Elsie, 
spoiling for people ! Don’t set your heart 
on them. High Valley isn’t at all a likely 
spot to make a neighborhood of.” 

“A neighborhood! I should think not! A 
neighborhood would be horrid. But if two 
or three people wanted to come, — really nice 


110 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


ones, you know, perfect charmers, — surely 
you and Clare wouldn’t have the heart to 
refuse to sell them building lots?” 

“We are exactly a whist quartet now,” 
said Clarence, patting his wife’s shoulder. 
“ Cheer up, dear. You shall have your per- 
fect charmers when they apply ; but mean- 
time changes are risky, and I am quite content 
with things as they are, and am ready to 
dance Sally Waters with you at any time 
with pleasure. Might I have the honor now, 
for instance ? ” 

“ Indeed, no ! Clover and I have to work 
like beavers on the Youngs’ house. And, 
Clare, we are quite a complete party in 
ourselves, as you say; but there are the 
children to be considered. Geoffy and Phil- 
lida will want to play whist one of these 
days, and where is their quartet to come 
from?” 

“ We shall have to consider that point 
when they are a little nearer the whist age. 
Here they come now. I hear the nursery 
door slam. They don’t look particularly de- 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Ill 


jected about their future prospects, I must 

yy 

say. 

Four pairs of eyes turned expectantly to- 
ward the staircase, down which there pres- 
ently came the dearest little pair of children 
that can be imagined. Clover’s boy of three 
was as big as most people’s boys of five, a 
splendid sturdy little Englishman in build, but 
with his mother’s lovely eyes and skin. Phil- 
lida, whose real name was Philippa, was of a 
more delicate and slender make, with dark 
brown eyes and a mane of ruddy gold which 
repeated something of the tawny tints of her 
father’s hair and beard. Down they came 
hand in hand, little Phil holding tightly to 
the polished baluster, chattering as they went, 
like two wood-thrushes. Neither of them had 
ever known any other child playmates, and 
they were devoted to each other and quite 
happy together. Little Geoff from the first 
had adopted a protecting attitude toward his 
smaller cousin, and had borne himself like a 
gallant little knight in the one adventure of 
their lives, when a stray coyote, wandering 


112 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


near the house, showed his teeth to the two 
babies, whose nurse had left them alone for a 
moment, and Geoff, only two then, had caught 
up a bit of a stick and thrown himself in 
front of Phillida with such a rush and shout 
that the beast turned and fled, before Roxy 
and the collies could come to the rescue. 
The dogs chased the coyote up the ravine 
down which he had come, and he showed 
himself no more ; but Clover was so proud 
of her boy’s prowess that she never forgot the 
exploit, and it passed into the family annals 
for all time. 

One wonderful stroke of good-luck had 
befallen the young mothers in their moun- 
tain solitude, and that was the possession of 
Roxy and her mother Euphane. They were 
sister and niece to good old Debby, who for 
so many years had presided over Dr. Carr’s 
kitchen ; and when they arrived one day in 
Burnet fresh from the Isle of Man, and an- 
nounced that they had come out for good to 
better their fortunes, Debby had at once 
devoted them to the service of Clover and 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


113 


Elsie. They proved the greatest possible 
comfort and help to the High Valley house- 
hold. The place did not seem lonely to 
them, used as they were to a still lonelier 
cabin at the top of a steep moor up which 
few people ever came. The Colorado wages 
seemed riches, the liberal comfortable liv- 
ing luxury to them, and they rooted and es- 
tablished themselves, just as Debby had done, 
into a position of trusted and affectionate 
helpfulness, which seemed likely to endure. 
Euphane was housemaid, Roxy nurse ; it 
already seemed as though life could never 
have gone on without them, and Clover was 
disposed to emulate Dr. Carr in objecting to 
“followers,” and in resenting any admiring 
looks cast by herders at Roxy’s rosy English 
cheeks and pretty blue eyes. 

Little Geoff ran to his father’s knee, as a 
matter of course, on arriving at the bottom of 
the stairs, while Phillida climbed her mother’s, 
equally as a matter of course. Safely estab- 
lished there, she began at once to flirt with 
Clarence, making wide coquettish eyes at him, 
8 


114 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


smiling, and hiding her face to peep out and 
smile again. He seized one of her dimpled 
hands and kissed it. She instantly pulled it 
away, and hid her face again. 

“ Fair Phillida flouts me,” he said. “ Does n’t 
baby like papa a bit ? Ah, well, he is going to 
cry, then.” 

He buried his face in his napkin and sobbed 
ostentatiously. Phillida, not at all impressed, 
tugged bravely at the corner of the handker- 
chief ; but when the sobs continued and grew 
louder, she began to look troubled, and lean- 
ing forward suddenly, threw her arms round 
her father’s neck and laid her rose-leaf lips on 
his forehead. He caught her up rapturously 
and tossed her high in air, kissing her every 
time she came down. 

“ You angel ! you little angel ! you little 
dear ! ” he cried, with a positive dew of pleas- 
ure in his eyes. “ Elsie, what have we ever 
done to deserve such a darling ? ” 

“ I really don’t know what you have done,” 
remarked Elsie, coolly ; “ but I have done a 
good deal. I always was meritorious in my 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


115 


way, and deserve the best that is going, even 
Phillida. She is none too good for me. Come 
back, baby, to your exemplary parent.” 

She rose to recapture the child ; but Clar- 
ence threw a strong arm ebout her, still hold- 
ing Phillida on his shoulder, and the three 
went waltzing merrily down the room, the 
little one from her perch accenting the dance 
time with a series of small shouts. Little 
Geoff looked up soberly, with his mouth full 
of raspberries, and remarked, “ Aunty, I did n’t 
ever know that people danced at breakfast.” 

“ No more did I,” said Elsie, trying in vain 
to get away from her pirouetting husband. 

“No more does any one outside this ex- 
traordinary valley of ours,” laughed Geoff. 
“ Now, partner, if you have finished your fan- 
dango, allow me to remind you that there are 
a hundred and forty head of cattle waiting to 
be branded in the upper valley, and that Man- 
uel is to meet us there at ten o’clock.” 

“ And we have the breakfast things to wash, 
and a whole world to do at the Youngs’,” de- 
clared Elsie, releasing herself with a final twirl. 


116 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“Now, Clare dear, order Marigold and Summer- 
Savory, please, to be brought down in half an 
hour, and tell old Jose that we want him to 
help and scrub. No, young man, not another 
turn. These sports are unseemly on such a 
busy day as this. ‘ Dost thou not suspect my 
place? dost thou not suspect my years?’ as 
the immortal W. would say. I am twenty- 
five, — nearly twenty-six, — and am not to 
be whisked about thus.” 

Everybody went everywhere on horseback 
in the High Valley, and the gingham riding- 
skirts and wide-brimmed hats hung always on 
the antlers, ready to hand, beside water-proofs 
and top-coats. Before long the sisters were 
on their way, their saddle-pockets full of little 
stores, baskets strapped behind them, and the 
newly made curtains piled on their laps. The 
distance was about a mile to the house which 
Lionel Young and his sister were to inhabit. 

It stood in a charming situation on the slope 
of one of the side canyons, facing the high 
range and backed by a hillside clothed with 
pines. In build it was very much such a cabin 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


117 


as the original hut had been, — six rooms, all 
on one floor, the sixth being a kitchen. It 
was newly completed, and sawdust and fresh 
shavings were littered freely about the place. 
Clover’s first act was to light a fire in the 
wide chimney for burning these up. 

“It looks bare enough,” she remarked, 
sweeping away industriously. “ But it will 
be quite easy to make it pleasant if Imogen 
Young has any faculty at that sort of thing. 
I’m sure it’s a great deal more promising 
than the Hut was before Clarence and Geoff 
and I took hold of it. See, Elsie, — this room 
is done. I think Miss Young will choose it 
for her bedroom, as it is rather the largest ; 
so you might tack up the dotted curtains 
here while I sweep the other rooms. And 
that convolvulus chintz is to cover her dress- 
pegs.” 

“ What fun a house is ! ” observed Elsie a 
moment or two later, between her hammer 
strokes. “People who can get a carpenter 
or upholsterer to help them at any minute 
really lose a great deal of pleasure. I al- 


118 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


ways adored baby-houses when I was little, 
and this is the same thing grown up.” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Clover, abstract- 
edly, as she threw a last dustpanful of chips 
into the fire. “ It is good fun, certainly ; but 
out here one has so much of it that some- 
times it comes under the suspicion of being 
hard work. Now, when Jos6 has the kitchen 
windows washed it will all be pretty decent. 
We can’t undertake much beyond making 
the first day or two more comfortable. Miss 
Young will prefer to make her own plans 
and arrangements ; and I don’t fancy she ’s 
the sort of girl who will enjoy being too 
much helped.” 

“ Somehow I don’t get quite an agreeable 
idea of Miss Young from what you and Geof- 
frey say of her. I do hope she is n’t going 
to make herself disagreeable.” 

“ Oh, I ’m sure she won’t do that ; but 
there is a wide distance between not being 
disagreeable and being agreeable. I didn’t 
mean to give you an unpleasant impression 
of her. In fact, my recollections about her 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


119 


are rather indistinct. We didn’t see a great 
deal of her when we were at Clovelly, or per- 
haps it was that Isabel and I were out so much 
and there was so much coming and going.” 

“But are not she and Isabel very inti- 
mate ? ” 

“ I think so ; but they are not a bit alike. 
Isabel is delightful. I wish it were she who 
was coming out. You would love her. Now, 
my child, we must begin on the kitchen tins.” 

It was an all-day piece of work which they 
had undertaken, and they had ordered din- 
ner late accordingly, and provided themselves 
with a basket of sandwiches. By half-past five 
all was fairly in order, — the windows washed, 
the curtains up, kitchen utensils and china 
unpacked and arranged, and the somewhat 
scanty supply of furniture placed to the best 
advantage. 

“ There ! Robinson Crusoe would consider 
himself in clover ; and even Miss Young can 
exist for a couple of days, I should think,” 
said Elsie, standing back to note the effect of 
the last curtain. “ Lionel will have to go in 


120 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


to St. Helen’s and get a lot of things out 
before it will be really comfortable, though. 
There come the boys now to ride home with 
us. No, there is only one horse. Why, it is 
Phil ! ” 

Phil indeed it was, but such a different Phil 
from the delicate boy whom Clover had taken 
out to Colorado six years before. He was 
now a broad-shouldered, muscular, athletic 
young fellow, full of life and energy, and 
showing no trace of the illness which at that 
time seemed so menacing. He gave a shout 
when he caught sight of his sisters, and 
pushed his broncho to a gallop, waving a 
handful of envelopes high in air. 

cc This despatch came last night for Geoff,” 
he explained, dismounting, “ and there were a 
lot of letters besides, so I thought I ’d better 
bring them out. I left the newspapers and 
the rest at the house, and fetched your share 
on. Euphane told me where you two were. 
So this is where the young Youngs are going 
to live, is it ? ” 

He stepped in at the door and took a criti- 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


121 


cal survey of the interior, while Clover and 
Elsie examined their letters. 

“ This telegram is for Geoff,” explained 
Clover. “ The Youngs are here,” and she 
read : — 

Safely landed. We reach Denver Thursday morn- 
ing, six-thirty. 

Lionel Young. 

“ So they will get here on Thursday after- 
noon. It ’s lucky we came up to-day. My 
letters are from Johnnie and Cecy Slack. 
Johnnie says — ” 

She was interrupted by a joyful shriek 
from Clover, who had torn open her letter 
and was eagerly reading it. 

“ Oh, Elsie, Elsie, what do you think is go- 
ing to happen ? The most enchanting thing ! 
Rose Red is coming out here in August! 
She and Mr. Browne and Roslein ! Was there 
ever anything so nice in this world ! Just 
hear what she says : ” — 

Boston, June 30. 

My Ducky-D addles and my dear Elsie girl, — 
I have something so wonderful to tell that I can 
scarcely find words in which to tell it. A kind 


122 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Providence and the A. T. and S. F. R. R. have 
just decided that Deniston must go to New Mexico 
early in August. This would not have been at all 
delightful under ordinary circumstances, for it would 
only have meant perspiration on his part and widow- 
hood on mine, but most fortunately, some angels 
with a private car of their own have turned up, and 
have asked all three of us to go out with them as 
far as Santa FA What do you think of that ? It 
is not the Daytons, who seem only to exist to carry 
you to and fro from Burnet to Colorado free of ex- 
pense, this time, but another batch of angels who 
have to do with the road, — name of Hopkinson. 
I never set eyes on them, but they appear to my 
imagination equipped with the largest kind of 
wings, and nimbuses round their heads as big as 
shade-hats. 

I have always longed to get out somehow to your 
Enchanted Valley, and see all your mysterious hus- 
bands and babies, and find out for myself what the 
charm is that makes you so wonderfully contented 
there, so far from West Cedar Street and the other 
centres of light and culture, but I never supposed 
I could come unless I walked. But now I am com- 
ing ! I do hope none of you have the small-pox, or 
pleuro-pneumonia, or the “ foot-and-mouth disease ” 
(whatever that is), or any other of the ills to which 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


123 


men and cattle are subject, and which will stand in 
the way of the visit. Deniston, of course, will be 
forced to go right through to Santa Fd, but Roslein 
and I are at your service if you like to have us. 
We don’t care for scenery, we don’t want to see 
Mexico or the Pacific coast, or the buried cities of 
Central America, or the Zuni corn dance, — if 
there is such a thing, — or any alkaline plains, or 
pueblos, or buttes, or buffalo wallows ; we only 
want to see you, individually and collectively, and 
the High Valley. May we come and stay a fort- 
night ? Deniston thinks he shall be gone at least 
as long as that. We expect to leave Boston on the 
31st of July. You will know what time we ought 
to get to St. Helen’s, — I don’t, and I don’t care, so 
only we get there and find you at the station. Oh, 
my dear Clovy, is n’t it fun ? 

I have seen several of our old school-set lately, 
Esther Dearborn for one. She is Mrs. Joseph P. 
Allen now, as you know, and has come to live at 
Chestnut Hill, quite close by. I had never seen her 
since her marriage, nearly five years since, till the 
other day, when she asked me out to lunch, and 
introduced me to Mr. Joseph P., who seems a very 
nice man, and also — now don’t faint utterly, but 
you will ! to their seven children ! He had two of 
his own when they married, and they have had two 


124 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


pairs of twins since, and “ a singleton,” as they say 
in whist. Such a houseful you never did see ; but 
the twins are lovely, and Esther looks very fat and 
happy and well-to-do, and says she does n’t mind it 
a bit, and sees more clearly every day that the thing 
she was born for was to take the charge of a large 
family. Her Joseph P. is very well off, too. I 
should judge that they “ could have cranberry sauce 
every day and never feel the difference,” which an 
old cousin of my mother’s, whom I dimly remember 
as a part of my childhood, used to regard as repre- 
senting the high-water mark of wealth. 

Mary Strothers has been in town lately, too. She 
has only one child, a little girl, which seems misera- 
bly few compared with Esther, but on the other 
hand she has never been without neuralgia in the 
face for one moment since she went to live in the 
Hoosac Tunnel, she told me, so there are compen- 
sations. She seems happy for all that, poor dear 
Mary. Ellen Gray never has married at all, you 
know. She goes into good works instead, girls’ 
Friendlies and all sorts of usefulnesses. I do ad- 
mire her so much, she is a standing reproach and 
example to me. “ Wish I were a better boy,” as 
your brother Dorry said in his journal. 

Mother is well and my father, but the house 
seems empty and lonely now. We can never get 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


125 


used to dear grandmamma’s loss, and Sylvia is gone 
too. She and Tom sailed for Europe in April, and 
it makes a great difference having them away, even 
for a summer. My brother-in-law is such a nice 
fellow, I hope you will know him some day. 

And all this time I have forgotten to tell you the 
chief news of all, which is that I have seen Katy. 
Deniston and I spent Sunday before last with her at 
the Torpedo station. She has a cosey, funny little 
house, one of a row of five or six, built on the spine, 
so to speak, of a narrow, steep island, with a beau- 
tiful view of Newport just across the water. It was 
a superb day, all shimmery blue and gold, and we 
spent most of our time sitting in a shady corner of 
the piazza, and talking of the old times and of all 
of you. I did n’t know then of this enchanting 
Western plan, or we should have had a great deal 
more to talk about. The dear Katy looks very well 
and handsome, and was perfectly dear, as she al- 
ways is, and she says the Newport climate suits 
her to perfection. Your brother-in-law is a stun- 
ner ! I asked Katy if she was n’t going out to see 
you soon, and she said not till Ned went to sea next 
spring, then she should go for a long visit. 

Write at once if we may come. I won’t begin on 
the subject of Roslein, whom you will never know, 
she has grown so. She goes about saying raptu- 


126 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


rously, “ I shall see little Geoff ! I shall see Phil- 
lida ! I shall see Aunt Clovy ! Perhaps I shall 
ride on a horse ! ” You ’ll never have the heart 
to disappoint her. My “ milk teeth are chattering 
with fright” at the idea of so much railroad, as one 
of her books says, but for all that we are coming, 
if you let us. Do let us ! 

Your own Rose Red. 

“ Let them ! I should think so,” cried 
Clover, with a little skip of rapture. Dear, 
dear Rose ! Elsie, the nicest sort of things 
do happen out here, don’t they ? ” 


CHAPTER V. 

ARRIVAL. 

train from Denver was nearing 
Helen’s, — and Imogen Young 
oked eagerly from the window for 
a first sight of the place. Their journey had 
been exhaustingly hot during its last stages, 
the alkaline dust most trying, and they had 
had a brief experience of a sand-storm on the 
plains, which gave her a new idea as to what 
wind and grit can accomplish in the way of 
discomfort. She was very tired, and quite 
disposed to be critical and unenthusiastic ; 
still she had been compelled to admit that the 
run down from Denver lay over an interest- 
ing country. 

The town on its plateau was shining in full 
sunshine, as it had done when Clover landed 
there six years before, but its outlines had 



128 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


greatly changed with the increase of build- 
ings. The mountain range opposite was 
darkly blue from the shadows of a heavy 
thunder gust which was slowly rolling away 
southward. The plains between were of 
tawny yellow, but the belts of mesa above 
showed the richest green, except where the 
lines of alfalfa and grain were broken by 
white patches of mentzelia and poppies. It 
was wonderfully beautiful, but the town it- 
self looked so much larger than Imogen had 
expected that she exclaimed with surprise : — 

“Why, Lion, it’s a city! You said you 
were bringing me out to live in the wil- 
derness. What made you tell such stories? 
It looks bigger than Bideford.” 

“ It looks larger than it did when I came 
away,” replied her brother. “ Two, three, 
six, — eight fine new houses on Monument 
Avenue, by Jove, and any number off there 
toward the north. You ’ve no idea how these 
Western places sprout and thrive, Moggy. 
This isn’t twenty years old yet.” 

“ I can’t believe it. You are imposing on 


ARRIVAL. 


129 


me. And why on earth did you let me bring 
out all those pins and things? There seem 
to be any number of shops.” 

“ I let you ! Oh, I say, that is good ! Why, 
Moggy, don’t you remember how I remon- 
strated straight through your packing. Never 
a bit would you listen to me, and here is the 
result,” pulling out a baggage memorandum 
as he spoke, and reading aloud in a lugubri- 
ous tone, “ Extra weight of trunks, thirteen 
dollars, fifty-two cents.” 

“ Thirteen fifty,” cried Imogen with a gasp. 
“ My gracious! why, that’s nearly three 
pounds! Lion! Lion! you ought to have 
made me listen.” 

"I’m sure I did all I could in that way. 
But cheer up ! You ’ll want your pins yet. 
You mustn’t confound this place with High 
Valley. That ’s sixteen miles off and has n’t 
a shop.” 

The discussion was brought to end by 
the stopping of the train. In another mo- 
ment Geoff Templestowe appeared at the 
door. 


9 


130 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Hallo, Lion ! glad to see you. Imogen,” 
shaking hands warmly, “ how are you ? 
Welcome to Colorado. I'm afraid you've 
had a bad journey in this heat.” 

“ It has been beastly. Poor Moggy 's dead 
beat, I ’m afraid. Neither of us could sleep a 
wink last night for the dust and sand. Well, 
it 's all well that ends well. We 'll cool her off 
in the valley. How is everything going on 
there ? Mrs. Templestowe all right, and Mrs. 
Page, and the children ? I declare,” stretch- 
ing himself, “ it ’s a blessing to get a breath 
of good air again. There’s nothing in the 
world that can compare with Colorado.” 

A light carryall was waiting near the station, 
whose top was little more than a fringed awn- 
ing. Into this Geoffrey helped Imogen, and 
proceeded to settle her wraps and bags in 
various seat boxes and pockets with which 
the carriage was cleverly fitted up. It was 
truly a carry-all and came and went contin- 
ually between the valley and St. Helen’s. 

“Now,” he remarked as he stuffed in the 
last parcel, “ we will just stop long enough 


ARRIVAL. 


131 


to get the mail and some iced tea, which I 
ordered as I came down, and then be off. 
You’ll find a cold chicken in that basket, 
Lion. Clover was sure you ’d need some- 
thing, and there’s no time for a regular 
meal if we are to get in before dark.” 

“ Iced tea ! what a queer idea ! ” said 
Imogen. 

“ I forgot that you were not used to it. 
We drink it a great deal here in summer. 
Would you rather have some hot? I didn’t 
fancy that you would care for it, the day is 
so warm ; but we ’ll wait and have it made, 
if you prefer.” 

“ Oh, no. I won’t delay you,” said Imo- 
gen, rather grudgingly. She was disposed 
to resent the iced tea as an American inno- 
vation, but when she tried it she found her- 
self, to her own surprise, liking it very much. 
“ Only, why do they call it tea,” she medi- 
tated. “ It ’s a great deal more like punch — 
all lemon and things.” But she had to own 
that it was wonderfully refreshing. 

The sun was blazing on the plain ; but 


132 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


after they began to wind lip the pass a cool, 
strong wind blew in their faces and the day 
seemed suddenly delightful. The unfamiliar 
flowers and shrubs, the strange rock forms 
and colors, the occasional mountain glimpses, 
interested Imogen so much that for a time 
she forgot her fatigue. Then an irresistible 
drowsiness seized her ; the talk going on be- 
tween Geoffrey Templestowe and her brother, 
about cows and feed and the prospect of the 
autumn sales, became an indistinguishable 
hum, and she went off into a series of sleeps 
broken by brief wakings, when the carryall 
bumped, or swayed heavily from side to side 
on the steep inclines. From one of the 
soundest of these naps she was roused by 
her brother shaking her arm and calling, — 

“ Moggy, wake, wake up ! We are here.” 

With a sharp thump of heart-beat she 
started into full consciousness to find the 
horses drawing up before a deep vine-hung 
porch, on which stood a group of figures which 
seemed to her confused senses a large party. 
There was Elsie in a fresh white dress with 


ARRIVAL. 


133 


pale green ribbons, Clarence Page, Phil Carr, 
little Philippa in her nurse’s arms, small Geoff 
with his two collies at his side, and foremost 
of all, ready to help her down, hospitable 
little Clover, in lilac muslin, with a rose in 
her belt and a face of welcome. 

“ How the Americans do love dress ! ” was 
Imogen’s instant thought, — an ungracious 
one, and quite unwarranted by the circum- 
stances. Clover and Elsie kept themselves 
neat and pretty from habit and instinct, but 
the muslin gowns were neither new nor fash- 
ionable, they had only the merit of being 
fresh and becoming to their wearers. 

“ You poor child, how tired you must 
be ! ” cried Clover, as she assisted Imogen 
out of the carriage. “This is my sister, 
Mrs. Page. Please take her directly to her 
room, Elsie, while I order up some hot water. 
She’ll be glad of that first of all. Lion, I 
won’t take time to welcome you now. The 
boys must care for you while I see after your 
sister.” 

A big sponging-bath full of fresh water 


134 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


stood ready in the room to which Imogen 
was conducted ; the white bed was invitingly 
“ turned down ; ” there were fresh flowers on 
the dressing-table, and a heap of soft cush- 
ions on a roomy divan which filled the deep 
recess of a range of low windows. The gay- 
flowered paper on the walls ran up to the 
peak of the ceiling, giving a tent-like effect. 
Most of the furnishings were home-made. 
The divan was nothing more or less than 
a big packing-box nicely stuffed and uphol- 
stered ; the dressing-table, a construction of 
pine boards covered and frilled with cre- 
tonne. Clover had plaited the chintz round 
the looking-glass and on the edges of the 
book-shelves, while the picture-frames, the 
corner-brackets, and the impromptu wash- 
stand owed their existence to Geoff’s clever- 
ness with tools. But the whole effect was 
pretty and tasteful, and Imogen, as she went 
on with her dressing, looked about her with 
a somewhat reluctant admiration, which was 
slightly tinctured with dismay. 

“ I suppose they got all these things out 


ARRIVAL. 


135 


from the East,” she reflected. “ I could n’t 
undertake them in our little cabin, I ’m sure. 
It ’s very nice, and really in very good taste, 
but it must have cost a great deal. The 
Americans don’t think of that , however; and 
I ’ve always heard they have a great knack 
at doing up their houses and making a 
good show.” 

“ Go straight to bed if you feel like it. 
Don’t think of coming down. We will send 
you up some dinner,” Clover had urged ; 
but Imogen, tired as she was, elected to go 
down. 

“ I really must n’t give in to a little fa- 
tigue,” she thought. “I have the honor of 
England to sustain over here.” So she hero- 
ically put on her heavy tweed travelling- 
dress again, and descended the stairs, to find 
a bright little fire of pine-wood and cones 
snapping and blazing on the hearth, and the 
whole party gathered about it, waiting for 
her and dinner. 

“ What an extraordinary climate ! ” she ex- 
claimed in a tone of astonishment. “ Melting 


136 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


with heat at three, and here at a quarter past 
seven you are sitting round a fire ! It really 
feels comfortable, too ! ” 

“ The changes are very sharp,” said Geoff, 
rising to give her his chair. “Such a daily 
drop in temperature would make a sensation 
in our good old Devonshire, would it not ? 
You see it comes from the high elevation. 
We are nearly eight thousand feet above the 
sea-level here ; that is about twice as high 
as the top of the highest mountain in the 
United Kingdom.” 

“ Fancy ! I had no idea of it. Lionel did 
say something about the elevation, but I 
did n’t clearly attend.” She glanced about 
the room, which was looking its best, with 
the pink light of the shaded candles falling 
on the white-spread table, and the flickering 
fire making golden glows and gleams on 
the ceiling. “ How did you get all these 
pretty things out here ? ” she suddenly de- 
manded. 

“Some came in wagons, and some just 
‘growed,’” explained Clover, merrily. “We 


ARRIVAL. 


137 


will let you into our secrets gradually. Ah, 
here comes dinner at last, and I am sure 
we shall all be glad of it.” 

Choo Loo now entered with the soup- 
tureen, a startling vision to Imogen, who 
had never seen a Chinaman before in her 
life. 

“ How very extraordinary ! ” she mur- 
mured in an aside to Lionel. “ He looks 
like an absolute heathen. Are such things 
usual here ? ” 

“ Very usual, I should say. Lots of them 
about. That fellow has a Joss in his cabin, 
and very likely a prayer-wheel ; but he ’s a 
capital cook. I wish we could have the luck 
to happen on his brother or nephew for 
ourselves.” 

“ I don’t, then,” replied his scandalized sis- 
ter. “ I cant feel that it is right to employ 
such people in a Christian country. The 
Americans have such lax notions ! ” 

“ Hold up a bit ! What do you know about 
their notions ? Nothing at all.” 

“Come to dinner,” said Clover’s pleasant 


138 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


voice. “ Geoff, Miss Young will sit next you. 
Put a cushion behind her back, Clarence/' 

Dinner over, Imogen concluded that she 
had upheld the honor of England quite as 
long as was desirable, or in fact possible, 
and gladly accepted permission to go at once 
to bed. She was fairly tired out. 

She woke wonderfully restored by nine 
hours’ solid sleep in that elastic and life- 
giving atmosphere, and went downstairs to 
find every one scattered to their different 
tasks and avocations, except Elsie, who was 
waiting to pour her coffee. Clover and Lionel 
were gone to the new house, she explained, 
and they were to follow them as soon as 
Imogen had breakfasted. 

Elsie's manner lacked its usual warmth 
and ease. She had taken no fancy at all to 
the stiff, awkward little English woman, in 
whom her quick wits detected the lurking 
tendency to cavil and criticise, and was dis- 
couraging accordingly. Oddly enough, Imo- 
gen liked this offish manner of Elsie's. She 
set it down to a proper sense of decorum 


ARRIVAL. 


139 


and retenue. “ So different from the usual 
American gush and making believe to be at 
ease always with everybody,” she thought ; 
and she made herself as agreeable as pos- 
sible to Elsie, whom she considered much 
prettier than Clover, and in every way more 
desirable. These impressions were doubtless 
tinctured by the underlying jealousy from 
which she had so long suffered, and which 
still influenced her, though Isabel Temple- 
stowe was now far away, and there was no 
one at hand to be jealous about. 

The two rode amicably up the valley to- 
gether. 

“ There, that ’s your new home,” said Elsie, 
when they came in sight of the just finished 
cabin. “ Did n’t Lionel choose a pretty site 
for it ? And you have a most beautiful view.” 

“Well, Moggy,” cried her brother, hurry- 
ing out to help her dismount, “ here you are 
at last. Mrs. Templestowe and I have made 
you a fire and done all sorts of things. How 
do you like the look of it? It’s a decent 
little place, isn’t it? We must get Mrs. Tern- 


140 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


plestowe to put us up to some of her nice 
little dodges about furniture and so on, such 
as they have at the other house. She and 
Mrs. Page have made it all tidy for us, and 
put up lots of nice little curtains and things. 
They must have worked awfully hard, too. 
Was n’t it good of them ? ” 

“ Very,” said Imogen, rather stiffly. “ I ’m 
sure we ’re much obliged to you, Mrs. Tem- 
plestowe. I fear you have given yourself a 
great deal of trouble.” 

The words were polite enough, but the 
tone was distinctly repellent. 

“ Oh, no,” said Clover, lightly. “ It was 
only fun to come “up and arrange a little 
beforehand. We were very glad to do it. 
Now, Elsie, you and I will ride down, and 
leave these new housekeepers to discuss their 
plans in peace. Dinner at six to-night, Li- 
onel ; and please send old J ose down if you 
need anything. Don’t stay too long or get 
too tired, Miss Young. We shall have lunch 
about one ; but if you are doing anything 
and don’t want to leave so early, you ’ll find 


ARRIVAL. 


141 


some sardines and jam and a tin of biscuits 
in that cupboard by the fire.” 

She and Elsie rode away accordingly. 
When they were out of hearing, Clover re- 
marked, — 

“ I wonder why that girl dislikes me so.” 

“ Dislikes you ! Clover, what do you mean ? 
Nobody ever disliked you in your life, or ever 
could.” 

“ Yes, she does,” persisted Clover. a She 
has got some sort of queer twist in her mind 
regarding me, and I can’t think what it is. 
It does n’t really matter, and very likely she ’ll 
get over it presently ; but I ’m sorry about 
it. It would be so pleasant all to be good 
friends together up here, where there are so 
few of us.” 

Her tone was a little pathetic. Clover was 
used to being liked. 

“ Little wretch ! ” cried Elsie, with flashing 
eyes. “If I really thought that she dared 
not to like you, I ’d — I ’d — , well, what 
would I do ? — import a grisly bear to eat 
her, or some such thing ! I suppose an Indian 


142 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


could be found who for a consideration would 
undertake to scalp Miss Imogen Young, and 
if she does n’t behave herself he shall be found. 
But you’re all mistaken, Clovy; you must 
be. She ’s only stiff and dull and horribly 
English, and very tired after her journey. 
She ’ll be all right in a day or two. If she 
isn’t, I shall ‘go for’ her without mercy.” 

“Well, perhaps it is that.” It was easier 
and pleasanter to imagine Imogen tired than 
to admit that she was absolutely unfriendly. 

“ After all,” she added, “ it ’s for Miss 
Young’s sake that I should regret it if it 
were so, much more than for my own. I 
have Geoff and you and Clare, — and papa 
and Johnnie coming, and dear Rose Red, — all 
of you are at my back ; but she, poor thing, 
has no one but Lionel to stand up for her. I 
am on my own ground,” drawing up her figure 
with a pretty movement of pride, “ and she is 
a stranger in a strange land. So we won’t 
mind if she is stiff, Elsie dear, and just be as 
nice as we can be to her, for it must be hor- 
rid to be so far away from home and one’s 


ARRIVAL. 


143 


own people. We cannot be too patient and 
considerate under such circumstances.” 

Meanwhile the moment they were out of 
sight Lionel had turned upon his sister 
sharply, and angrily. 

“ Moggy, what on earth do you mean by 
speaking so to Mrs. Templestowe ? ” 

“ Speaking how ? What did I say ? ” re- 
torted Imogen. 

“ You did n’t say anything out of the com- 
mon, but your manner was most disagreeable. 
If she had n’t been the best- tempered woman 
in the world she would have resented it on 
the spot. Here she, and all of them, have 
been doing all they can to make ready for us, 
giving us such a warm welcome too, treating 
us as if we were their own kith and kin, and 
you return it by putting on airs as if she 
were intruding and interfering in our affairs. 
I never was so ashamed of a member of my 
own family before in my life.” 

“ I can’t imagine what you mean,” protested 
Imogen, not quite truthfully. “ And you ’ve 
no call to speak to me so, Lionel, and tell 


144 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


me I am rude, just because I don’t gush and 
go about making cordial speeches like these 
Americans of yours. I ’m sure I said every- 
thing that was proper to Mrs. Templestowe.” 

“Your words were proper enough, but 
your manner was eminently improper. Now, 
Moggy,” changing his tone, “ listen to me. 
Let us look the thing squarely in the face. 
You ’ve come out here with me, and it ’s aw- 
fully good of you and I sha’n’t ever forget it ; 
but here we are, settled for years to come in 
this little valley, with the Templestowes and 
Pages for our only neighbors. They can be 
excellent friends, as I ’ve found, and they are 
prepared to be equally friendly to you ; but if 
you’re going to start with a little grudge 
against Mrs. Geoff, — who ’s the best little 
woman going, by Jove, and the kindest, — 
you ’ll set the whole family against us, and 
we might as well pack up our traps at once 
and go back to England. Now I put it to 
you reasonably ; is it worth while to upset all 
our plans and all my hopes, — and for what ? 
Mrs. Templestowe can’t have done anything 
to set you against her?” 


ARRIVAL. 


145 


“ Lion,” cried Imogen, bursting into tears, 
16 don’t! I ’m sure I did n’t mean to be rude. 
Mrs. Geoff never did anything to displease 
me, and certainly I have n’t a grudge against 
her. But I ’m very tired, so please don’t s-c-o-ld 
me ; I ’ve got no one out here but you.” 

Lionel melted at once. He had never seen 
his sister cry before, and felt that he must 
have been harsh and unkind. 

“ I ’m a brute,” he exclaimed. u There, 
Moggy, there, dear — don’t cry. Of course 
you ’re tired ; I ought to have thought of it 
before.” 

He petted and consoled her, and Imogen, 
who was really spent and weary, found the 
process so agreeable that she prolonged her 
tears a little. At last she suffered herself to 
be comforted, dried her eyes, grew cheerful, 
and the two proceeded to make an investiga^ 
tion of the premises, deciding what should go 
there and what here, and what it was requi- 
site to get from St. Helen’s. Imogen had to 
own that the ladies of the Valley had been 

both thoughtful and helpful. 

10 


146 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I ’ll thank them again this evening and 
do it better/’ she said ; and Lionel patted her 
back, and told her she really was quite a lit- 
tle brick when she was n’t a big goose, — a 
brotherly compliment which was more grati- 
fying than it sounded. 

It was decided that he should go into St. 
Helen’s next day to order out stores and 
what Lionel called “ a few sticks ” that were 
essential, and procure a servant. 

“Then we can move in the next day,” 
said Imogen. “ I feel in such a hurry to be- 
gin house-keeping, Lionel, you can’t think. 
One is always a stranger in the land till 
one has a place of one’s own. Geoff and his 
wife are very kind and polite, but it ’s much 
better we should start for ourselves as soon 
as possible. Besides, there are other people 
coming to stay ; Mrs. Page said so.” 

“ Yes, but not for quite a bit yet, I fancy. 
All the same, you are right, Moggy ; and we ’ll 
set up our own shebang as soon as it can be 
managed. You ’ll feel twice as much at home 
when you have a house of your own. I ’ll get 


ARRIVAL. 


147 


the mattresses and tables and chairs out by 
Saturday, and fetch the slavey out with me 
if I can find one.” 

“ No Chinese need apply,” said Imogen. 
“ Get me a Christian servant, whatever you 
do, Lion. I can’t bear that creature with the 
pig-tail.” 

“ I ’ll do my possible,” said her brother, in 
a doubtful tone ; “ but you ’ll come to pig- 
tails yet and be thankful for them, or I miss 
my guess.” 

“ Never ! ” 

Imogen remembered her promise. She was 
studiously polite and grateful that evening, 
and exerted herself to talk and undo the un- 
pleasant impression of the morning. The little 
party round the dinner-table waxed merry, 
especially when Imogen, under the effect of 
her gracious resolves, attempted to adapt her 
conversation to her company and gratify her 
hosts by using American expressions. 

“ People absquatulate from St. Helen’s 
toward autumn, don’t they ? ” she remarked. 
Then when some one laughed she added, “ You 
say ‘ absquatulate ’ over here, don’t you ? ” 


148 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Well, I don’t know. I never did hear any 
one say it except as a joke,” replied Elsie. 

And again : “ Mother would be astonished, 
Lion, would n’t she, if she knew that a Chi- 
nese can make English puddings as well as 
the cooks at home. She ’d be all struck of 
a heap.” 

And later : “ It really was dreadful. The 
train was broken all to bits, and nearly every 
one on board was hurt, — catawampously 
chawed up in fact, as you Americans would 
say. Why, what are you all laughing at? 
Don’t you say it?” 

“ Never, except in the comic newspapers and 
dime novels,” said Geoffrey Templestowe when 
he recovered from his amusement, while Lio- 
nel, utterly overcome with his sister’s vocabu- 
lary, choked and strangled, and finally found 
voice to say, — 

“ Go on, Moggy. You’re doing beautifully. 
Nothing like acquiring the native dialect to 
make a favorable impression in a new coun- 
try. Oh, wherever did she learn ‘ catawam- 
pus’ ? I shall die of it.” 



Katty gave warning at the end of a week 


Page lJft, 



CHAPTER VI. 


UNEXPECTED. 

OGEN’S race-prejudices experienced 
a weakening after Lionel’s return 
from St. Helen’s with the only “ sla- 
vey” attainable, in the shape of an untidy, 
middle-aged Irish woman, with red hair, and 
a hot little spark of temper glowing in either 
eye. Putting this unpromising female in 
possession of the fresh, clean kitchen of the 
cabin was a trial, but it had to be done ; and 
the young mistress, with all the ardor of in- 
experience, bent herself to the task of refor- 
mation and improvement, and teaching Katty 
Maloney — who was old enough to be her 
mother — a great many desirable things 
which she herself did not very well under- 
stand. It was thankless work and resulted 
as such experiments usually do. Katty gave 




150 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


warning at the end of a week, affirming that 
she was n’t going to be hectored and driven 
round by a bit of a miss, who didn’t well 
know what she wanted ; and that the Valley 
was that lonesome anyhow that she’d not 
remain in it ; no, not if the Saints themselves 
came down from glory and kivered up every 
fut of soil with shining gold, and she a-starv- 
ing in the mud, — that she would n’t ! 

Imogen saw her go with small regret. She 
had no idea how difficult it might be to find 
a successor, and it was not till three incom- 
petents of the same nationality had been 
lured out by the promise of high wages, only 
to decide that the place was too “ lonely ” for 
them and incontinently depart, that she real- 
ized how hard was the problem of “ help” in 
such a place. It was her first trial at inde- 
pendent housekeeping, and with her English 
ideas she had counted on neatness, respectful- 
ness of manner, and a certain amount of train- 
ing as a matter of course in a servant. One 
has to learn one’s way in a new country by 
the hardest, and perhaps, the least hard part 


UNEXPECTED. 


151 


of Imogen’s lesson were the intervals when 
she and Lionel did the work themselves, with 
only old Jose to scrub and wash-up ; then at 
least they could be quiet and at peace, without 
daily controversies. Later, relief and comfort 
came to them in the shape of a gentle Mongo- 
lian named Ah Lee, procured through the good 
offices of Choo Loo, whom Imogen was only 
too thankful to accept, pig-tail and all, for his 
gentleness of manner, general neatness and 
capacity, and the good taste which he gave to 
his dishes. In fact, she confessed one day to 
Lionel, privately in a moment of confidence, 
that rather than lose him, she would herself 
carve a joss stick and nail it up in the kitchen ; 
which concession proves the liberalizing and 
widening effect of necessity upon the human 
mind. But this is anticipating. 

The cabin was a pleasant place enough 
when once fairly set in order. There was an 
abundance of sunshine, fire-wood was plenty, 
and so small a space was easily kept tidy. 
Imogen, when she reviewed her resources, 
realized how wise Lionel had been in re- 


152 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


commending her to bring more ornamental 
things and fewer articles of mere use, such as 
tapes and buttons. Buttons and tapes were 
easy enough to come by ; but things to make 
the house pretty were difficult to obtain and 
cost a great deal. She made the most of her 
few possessions, and supplied what was lack- 
ing with wild flowers, which could be had in 
any quantity for the picking. Lionel had 
hunted a good deal during his first Colorado 
years, and possessed quite a good supply oi 
fox, wolf, and bear skins. These did duty 
for rugs on the floor. Elk and buffalo horns 
fastened on the walls served as pegs on which 
to hang whips and hats. Some gay Mexican 
pots adorned the chimney-piece ; it all looked 
pretty enough and quite comfortable. Imo- 
gen would fain have tried her hand at home- 
made devices of the sort in which the ladies at 
the lower house excelled, but somehow her 
attempts turned out failures. She lacked 
lightness of touch and originality of fancy, 
and the results were apt to be what Elsie 
privately stigmatized as “ wapses of red 


UNEXPECTED. 


153 


flannel and burlaps without form or come- 
liness,” at which Lionel jeered, while visi- 
tors discreetly averted their eyes lest they 
should be forced to express an opinion con- 
cerning them. 

Imogen’s views as to the character and 
capacities of American women underwent 
many modifications during that first summer 
in the Valley. It seemed to her that Mrs. 
Templestowe and her sister were equal to 
any emergency however sudden and unex- 
pected. She was filled with daily wonder 
over their knowledge of practical details, and 
their extraordinary “handiness.” If a herder 
met with an accident they seemed to know 
just what to do. If Choo Loo was taken with 
a cramp or some odd Chinese disease without 
a name, and laid aside for a day or two, 
Clover not only nursed him but went into 
the kitchen as a matter of course, and extem- 
porized a meal which was sufficiently satis- 
factory for all concerned. If a guest arrived 
unexpectedly they were not put out ; if some 
article of daily supply failed, they seemed 


154 


IN' THE HIGH VALLEY. 


always able to devise a substitute ; and through 
all and every contingency they managed to 
look pretty and bright and gracious, and make 
sunshine in the shadiest places. 

Slowly, for Imogen’s mind was not of the 
quick working order, she took all this in, and 
her respect for America and Americans rose 
accordingly. She was forced to own that what- 
ever the rest of womankind in this extraordi- 
nary new country might be, these particular 
specimens were of a sort which any land, even 
England, might be justly proud to claim. 

“And with all they do, they contrive to 
look so nice,” she said to herself. “I can’t 
understand how they manage it. Their gowns 
fit so well, and they always seem to have 
just the right kind of thing to put on. It 
is really wonderful, and it certainly isn’t 
because they think a great deal about it. 
Before I came over I always imagined that 
American women spent their time in reading 
fashion magazines and talking over their 
clothes. Mrs. Geoff and Mrs. Page certainly 
don’t do that. I don’t often hear them speak 


UNEXPECTED. 


155 


about dresses, or see them at work at them ; 
and both of them know a great deal more 
about a house than I do, or any other English 
girl I ever saw. Mrs. Geoff, and Mrs. Page 
too, can make all sorts of things, — cakes and 
puddings and muffins and even bread ; and 
they read a good deal as well. The Ameri- 
cans are certainly a cleverer people than I 
supposed.” 

The mile of distance between what Clar- 
ence called “ the Hut and the Hutlet ” 
counted for little, and a daily intercourse 
went on, trending chiefly, it must be owned, 
from the Hut to the Hutlet. Clover was 
unwearied in small helps and kindnesses. If 
Imogen were cookless, old Jose was sure to 
appear with a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a 
basket of graham gems ; or Geoff with a creel 
of trout and an urgent invitation to lunch or 
dinner or both. New books made their ap- 
pearance from below, newspapers and mag- 
azines ; and if ever the day came when Imo- 
gen felt hopelessly faint-hearted, lonely, and 
over-worked, she was sure to see the flutter 


156 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


of skirts, and her pretty, cordial neighbors 
would come riding up the trail to cheer her, 
and to propose something pleasant or helpful. 
Sometimes Elsie would have her baby on her 
knee, trusting to “ Summer Savory’s ” sure- 
footed steadiness; sometimes little Geoff 
would be riding beside his mother on a 
minute burro . Always it seemed as though 
they brought the sun with them; and she 
learned to watch for their coming on dull 
days, as if they were in the secret of her 
moods and knew just when they were most 
wanted. But they came so often that these 
coincidences were not so wonderful, after all. 

Imogen did appreciate all this kindness, 
and was grateful, and, after her manner, 
responsive ; still the process of what Elsie 
termed “ limbering out Miss Young ” went 
on but slowly. The English stock, firm-set 
and sturdily rooted, does not “ limber ” read- 
ily, and a bent toward prejudice is never 
easily shaken. Compelled to admit that Clo- 
ver was worth liking, compelled to own her 
good nature and friendliness, Imogen yet 


UNEXPECTED. 


157 


could not be cordially at ease with her. 
Always an inward stiffness made itself appar- 
ent when they were together, and always 
Clover was aware of the fact. It made no 
difference in her acts of good-will, but it 
made some difference in the pleasure with 
which she did them, — though on no account 
would she have confessed it, especially to 
Elsie, who was so comically ready to fire 
up and offer battle if she suspected any one 
of undervaluing her sister. So the month 
of July went. 

It was on the morning of the last day, 
when the long summer had reached its 
height of ripeness and completeness, and all 
things seemed making themselves ready for 
Rose Red, who was expected in three days 
more, that Clover, sitting with her work on 
the shaded western piazza, saw the unwonted 
spectacle of a carriage slowly mounting the 
steep road up the Valley. It was so un- 
usual to see any wheeled vehicle there, ex- 
cept their own carryall, that it caused a 
universal excitement. Elsie ran to the win- 


158 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


dow overhead with Phillida in her arms ; 
little Geoff stood on the porch staring out 
of a pair of astonished eyes, and Clover came 
forward to meet the new arrivals with an 
unmistakable look of surprise in her face. 
The gentleman who was driving and the 
lady beside him were quite unknown to her; 
but from the back part of the carriage a 
head extended itself, — an elderly head, with 
a bang of oddly frizzled gray hair and a 
pair of watery blue eyes, all surmounted by 
an eccentric shade hat, and all beaming and 
twittering with recognition and excitement. 
It took Clover a moment to disentangle her 
ideas ; then she perceived that it was Mrs. 
Watson, who, when she and Phil first came 
out to Colorado, years before, came with 
them, and for a time had been one of the 
chief trials and perplexities of their life there. 

“Well, my dear, and I don’t wonder that 
you look astonished, for no one would sup- 
pose that after all I went through with I 
should ever again — This is my daughter, 
and her husband, you know, and of course 


UNEXPECTED. 


159 


their coming made it seem quite — We are 
staying in the Ute Valley; only five miles 
over, they said it was, but such miles ! I ’d 
rather ride ten on a level, any day, as I told 
Ellen, and — well, they said you were living 
up here ; and though the road was pretty 
rough, it was possible to — And if ever 
there was a man who could drive a buggy 
up to the moon, as Ellen declares, Henry 
is the — but really I was hardly prepared 
for — but any way we started, and here 
we are ! What a wild sort of place it is 
that you are living in, my dear Miss Carr — • 
not that I ought to call you Miss Carr, 
for — I got your cards, of course, and 
I was told then that — And your sister 
marrying the other young man and coming 
out to live here too ! that must be very — 
Oh, dear me! is that little boy yours? Well, 
I never ! ” 

“ I am very glad to see you, I am sure,” 
said Clover, taking the first opportunity of 
a break in the torrent of words, “and Mrs. 
Phillips too, — this is Mrs. Phillips, is it 


160 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


not? Let me help you out, Mrs. Watson, 
and Geoffy dear, run round to the other 
door and ask Euphane to send somebody to 
take the horses.” 

“ Thank you,” said Mrs. Phillips. “Let 
me introduce my husband, Mrs. Templestowe. 
We are at the hotel in the Ute Valley for 
three days, and my mother wished so much 
to drive over and see you that we have 
brought her. What a beautiful place your 
valley is ! ” 

Mrs. Phillips, tall, large-featured, dark and 
rather angular, with a pleasant, resolute face, 
and clear-cut, rather incisive way of speak- 
ing, offered as complete a contrast to her 
pale, pudgy, incoherent little mother as could 
well be imagined. Clover’s instant thought 
was, “Now I know what Mr. Watson must 
have been like ” Mr. Phillips was also tall, 
with a keen, Roman-nosed face, and eye- 
glasses. Both had the look of people who 
knew what was what and had seen the 
world, — just the sort of persons, it would 
seem, to whom a parent like Mrs. Watson 


UNEXPECTED. 


161 


would be a great trial ; and it was the more 
to their credit that they never seemed in 
the least impatient, and were evidently de- 
voted to her comfort in all ways. If she 
fretted them, as she undoubtedly must, they 
gave no sign of it, and were outwardly all 
affectionate consideration. 

“ Why, where is your little boy gone ? I 
wanted to see him,” said Mrs. Watson, as 
soon as she was safely out of the carriage. 
“He was here just this moment, and then — 
I must say you have got a beautiful situ- 
ation ; and if mountains were all that one 
needed to satisfy — but I recollect how you 
used to go on about them at St. Helen’s — 
Take care, Ellen, your skirt is caught ! Ah, 
that’s right! Miss Carr is always so — but 
I must n’t call her that, I know, only I 
never — And now, my dear, I must have 
a kiss, after climbing up all this way ; and 
there were gopher holes — at least, a man 
we met said they were that, and I really 
thought — Tell me how you are, and all 
about — That’s right, Henry, take out the 
11 


162 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


wraps ; you never can tell how — Of course 
Miss Carr’s people are all — I keep calling 
you Miss Carr ; I really can’t help it. What 
a beautiful view ! ” 

Clover now led the way in-doors. The 
central room, large, cool, and flower-scented, 
was a surprise to the Eastern guests, who 
were not prepared to find anything so pretty 
and tasteful in so remote a spot. 

“ This is really charming ! ” said Mr. Phil- 
lips, glancing from fireplace to wall, and 
from wall to window; while his wife ex- 
claimed with delight over the Mariposa lilies 
which filled a glass bowl on the table, and 
the tall sheaves of scarlet penstamens on 
either side the hearth. Mrs. Watson blinked 
about curiously, actually silent for a mo- 
ment, before her surprise took the form of 
words. 

“ Why, how pretty it looks, does n’t it, 
Ellen ? and so large and spacious, and so 
many — I’m all the more surprised be- 
cause when we were together before, you 
would n’t go to the Shoshone House, you 


UNEXPECTED. 


163 


remember, because it was so expensive, and 
of course I — Well, circumstances do alter; 
and it is a world of changes, as Dr. Billings 
said in one of his sermons last spring. And 
I ’m sure I ’m glad, only I was n’t prepared 
to — Ellen ! Ellen ! look at that etching ! 
It’s exactly the same as yours, which Jane 
Phillips gave you and Henry for your tin 
wedding. It was very expensive, I know, 
for I was with her when she got it, and 
so — at Doll’s it was ; and his things natu- 
rally — but I really think the frame of this 
is the handsomest ! Now, my dear Miss Carr, 
where did you get that ? ” 

“It was one of our gifts,” said Clover, 
smiling. “ There is a double supply of wed- 
ding presents in this house, Mrs. Watson, for 
my sister’s are here as well as our own. So 
we are rather rich in pretty things, as you 
see, but not in anything else, except cows ; 
of those we have any number. Now, if you 
will all excuse me for a moment, I will go 
up and tell Mrs. Page that you are here.” 

Up she went, deliberately till she was out 


164 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


of sight, and then at a swift, light run the 
rest of the way. 

“ Elsie dear,” she cried, bursting into the 
nursery,” who do you think is here ? Mrs. 
Watson, our old woman of the Sea, you 
know. She has her son-in-law and daughter 
with her, and they look like rather nice peo- 
ple, strange to say. They have driven over 
from the Ute Valley, and of course they 
must have some lunch ; but as it happens it 
is the worst day of the whole year for them 
to choose, for I have sent Choo Loo into St. 
Helen’s to look up a Chinese cook for Imogen 
Young, and I meant to starve you all on 
poached eggs and raspberries for lunch. I 
can’t leave them of course, but will you just 
run down, my darling duck, and see what 
can be done, and tell Euphane ? There are 
cans of soup, of course, and sardines, and all 
that, but I fear the bread supply is rather 
short. I ’ll take Phillida. She *s as neat as 
a new pin, happily. Ah, here ’s Geoffy. Come 
and have your hair brushed, boy.” 

She went down with one child in her arms 


UNEXPECTED. 


165 


and the other holding her hand, — a pretty 
little picture for those below. 

“ My sister will come presently,” she ex- 
plained. “ This is her little girl. And here 
is my son, Mrs. Watson.” 

“ Dear me, — I had no idea he was such a 
big child,” said that lady. “ Five years old, 
is he, or six ? — only three ! Oh, yes, what 
am I thinking about; of course he — Well, 
my little man, and how do you like living up 
here in this lonesome place ? ” 

“Very much,” replied little Geoff, backing 
away from the questioner, as she aimlessly 
reached out after him. 

“ He has never lived anywhere else,” Clo- 
ver explained ; “ so he cannot make com- 
parisons. Ignorance is bliss, we are told, 
Mrs. Watson.” 

Euphane, staid and respectable in her spot- 
less apron, now entered with the lunch-cloth, 
and Clover convoyed her guests upstairs to 
refresh themselves with cold water after the 
dust of the drive. By the time they returned 
the table was set, and presently Elsie appeared, 


166 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


cool and fresh in her pretty pink and white 
gingham with a knot of rose-colored ribbon 
in her wavy hair, her cheeks deepened to just 
the becoming tint, the very picture of a dainty, 
well-cared-for little lady. No one would have 
suspected that during the last half-hour she 
had stirred and baked a pan of brown “ gems ” 
mixed a cream mayonnaise for the lettuce, set 
a glass dish of “ junket ” to form, and skimmed 
two pans of cream, beside getting out the 
soup and sweets for Euphane, and trimming 
the dishes of fruit with kinnikinick and core- 
opsis. The little feast seemed to have got 
itself ready in some mysterious manner, with- 
out trouble to any one, which is the last 
added grace of any feast. 

“ It is perfectly charming here,” said Mrs. 
Phillips, more and more impressed. “ I have 
seen nothing at all like this at the West.” 

“ There is n’t any other place exactly like 
our valley, I really think. Of course there 
are other natural parks among the ranges 
of the Rockies, but ours always seems to me 
quite by itself. You see we lie so as to catch 


UNEXPECTED. 


167 


the sun, and it makes a great difference even 
in the winter. We have done very little to 
the Valley, beyond just making ourselves 
comfortable.” 

“ Very comfortable indeed, I should say.” 

“ And so you married the other young man, 
my dear ? ” Mrs. Watson was remarking to 
Elsie. “I remember he used to come in very 
often to call on your sister, and it was easy 
enough to see, — people in boarding-houses 
will notice such things of course, and we all 
used to think — But there — of course she 
knew all the time, and it is easy to make mis- 
takes, and I dare say it ’s all for the best as 
it is. You look very young indeed to be mar- 
ried. I wonder that your father could make 
up his mind to let you.” 

“ I am not young at all, I ’m nearly twenty- 
six,” replied Elsie, who always resented re- 
marks about her youth. “ There are three 
younger than I am in the family, and they 
are all grown up 

“ Oh, my dear, but you don 9 t look it ! You 
don’t seem a day over twenty. Ellen was 


168 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


nearly as old as you are before she ever met 
Henry, and they were engaged nearly two — 
But she never did look as young as most 
of the girls she used to go with, and I sup- 
pose that ’s the reason that now they are all 
got on a little, she seems younger than — 
Well, well ! we never thought while I was 
with your sister at St. Helen's, helping to take 
care of your poor brother, you know, how it 
would all turn out. There was a young man 
who used to bring roses, — I forget his name, 
— and one day Mrs. Gibson said — Her hus- 
band had weak lungs and they came out to 
Colorado on that account, but I believe he — 
They were talking of building a house, and 
I meant to ask — But there, I forgot; one 
does grow so forgetful if one travels much 
and sees a good many people ; but as I was 
saying — he got well, I think." 

“Who, Mr. Gibson?” asked Elsie, quite 
bewildered. 

“ Oh, no ! not Mr. Gibson, of course. He 
died, and Mrs. Gibson married again. Some 
man she met out at St. Helen’s, I believe it 


UNEXPECTED. 


169 


was, and I heard that her children did n’t like 
it ; but he was rich, I believe and of course — 
Riches have wings, — you know that proverb 
of course, — but it makes a good deal of dif- 
ference whether they fly toward you or away 
from you.” 

“ Indeed it does,” said Elsie, much amused. 
“ But you asked me if somebody got well. 
Who was it?” 

“ Why, your brother of course. He did n’t 
die, did he ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no ! He is living at St. Helen’s 
now, and perfectly well and strong.” 

“Well, that must be a great comfort to you 
all. I never did think that he was as ill as 
your sister fancied he was. Girls will get 
anxious, and when people have n’t had a 
great deal of experience they — He used to 
laugh a great deal too, and when people do 
that it seems to me that their lungs — But of 
course it was only natural at her age. I used 
to cheer her up all I could and say — The air 
is splendid there, of course, and the sun some- 
how never seems to heat you up as it does at 


170 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


the East, though it is hot, but I think when 
people have weak chests they’d better — 
Dr. Hope does n’t think so, I know, but after 
all there are a great many doctors beside Dr. 
Hope, and — Ellen quite agrees with me — 
What was I saying. ” 

Elsie wondered on what fragment of the 
medley she would fix. She was destined 
never to know, for just then came the trample 
of hoofs and the “ Boys ” rode up to the door. 

She went out on the porch to meet them 
and break the news of the unexpected guests. 

“ That old thing ! ” cried Clarence, with un- 
flattering emphasis. “ Oh, thunder! I thought 
we were safe from that sort of bore up here. 
I shall just cut down to the back and take a 
bite in the barn.” 

“Indeed you will do nothing of the sort. 
Do you suppose I came up to this place, 
where company only arrives twice a year 
or so, to be that lonesome thing a cowboy’s 
bride, that you might slip away and take 
bites in barns? No sir — not at all. You 
will please go upstairs, make yourself fit to 


UNEXPECTED. 171 

be seen, and come down and be as polite as 
possible. Do you hear, Clare?’ 

She hooked one white finger in his button- 
hole, and stood looking in his face with a 
saucy gaze. Clarence yielded at once. His 
small despot knew very well how to rule 
him and to put down such short-lived at- 
tempts at insubordination as he occasionally 
indulged in. 

“ All right, Elsie, I ’ll go if I must. 
They ’re not to stay the night, are they ? ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! No indeed, they are go- 
ing back to the Ute Valley.” 

He vanished, and presently re-appeared to 
conduct himself with the utmost decorum. 
He did not even fidget when referred to 
pointedly as “ the other young man,” by 
Mrs. Watson, with an accompaniment of nods 
and blinks and wreathed smiles which was, to 
say the least, suggestive. Geoff’s manners 
could be trusted under all circumstances, and 
the little meal passed off charmingly. 

“ Good-by,” said Mrs. Watson, after she 
was safely seated in the carriage, as Clover 


172 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY* 


sedulously tucked her wraps about her. 
“It’s really been a treat to see you. We 
shall talk of it often, and I know Ellen will 
say — Oh, thank you, Miss Carr, you always 
were the kindest — Yes, I know it is n’t Miss 
Carr, and I ought to remember, but some- 
how — Good-by, Mrs. Page. Somehow — 
it’s very pretty up here certainly, and you 
have every comfort I ’m sure, and you seem — 
But it will be getting dark before long, and I 
don’t like the idea of leaving you young 
things up here all by yourselves. Don’t you 
ever feel a little afraid in the evenings? I 
suppose there are not any wild animals — 
though I remember — But there, I mustn’t 
say anything to discourage you, since you 
are here, and have got to stay.” 

“Yes, we have to stay,” said Clover, as 
she shook hands with Mr. Phillips, “ and hap- 
pily it is just what we all like best to do.” 
She watched the carriage for a moment or 
two as it bumped down the road, its brake 
grinding sharply against the wheels, then she 
turned to the others with a look of comically 
real relief. 


UNEXPECTED. 


173 


“ It seems like a bad dream ! I had for- 
gotten how Phil and I used to feel when Mrs. 
Watson went on like that, and she always did 
go on like that. How did we stand her ? ” 

“ Ellen seems nice,” remarked Elsie, — 
“ Poor Ellen ! ” 

“ Geoff,” added Clarence, vindictively, “ this 
must not happen again. You and I must go 
to work below and shave off the hill and 
make it twice as steep ! It will never do to 
have the High Yalley made easy of access to 
old ladies from Boston who — ” 

“ Who call you 6 the other young man,’ ” 
put in naughty Elsie. “ Never mind, Clare. 
I share your feelings, but I don’t think there 
is any risk. There is only one of her, and I 
am quite certain, from the scared look with 
which she alluded to our 6 wild beasts/ that 
she never proposes to come again.” 


CHAPTER VIL 


THORNS AND ROSES. 



EOFF,” said Clover as they sat at 
dinner two days later, “ could n’t 
we start early when we go in to- 
morrow to meet Rose, and have the morning 
at St. Helen’s ? There are quite a lot of little 
errands to be done, and it ’s a long time since 
we saw Poppy or the Hopes.” 

“ Just as early as you like,” replied her 
husband. “ It ’s a free day, and I am quite 
at your service.” 

So they breakfasted at a quarter before six, 
and by a quarter past were on their way to 
St. Helen’s, passing, as Clover remarked, 
through three zones of temperature; for it 
was crisply cold when they set out, temper- 
ately cool at the lower end of the Ute Pass, 
and blazing hot on the sandy plain. 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


175 


“We certainly do get a lot of climate for 
our money out here,” observed Geoff. 

They reached the town a little before ten, 
and went first of all to see Mrs. Marsh, for 
whom Clover had brought a basket of fresh 
eggs. She never entered that house without 
being sharply carried back to former days, 
and made to feel that the intervening time 
was dreamy and unreal, so absolutely un- 
changed was it. There was the rickety 
piazza on which she and Phil had so often 
sat, the bare, unhomelike parlor, the rocking- 
chairs swinging all at once, timed as it were 
to an accompaniment of coughs; but the 
occupants were not the same. Many sets of 
invalids had succeeded each other at Mrs. 
Marsh's since those old days ; still the general 
effect was precisely similar. 

Mrs. Marsh, who only was unchanged, gave 
them a warm welcome. Grateful little Clover 
never had forgotten the many kindnesses 
shown to her and Phil, and requited them in 
every way that was in her power. More than 
once when Mrs. Marsh was poorly or overtired, 


176 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


she had carried her off to the High Valley 
for a rest ; and she never failed to pay her a 
visit whenever she spent a day at St. Helen’s. 

Their next call was at the Hopes’. They 
found Mrs. Hope darning stockings on the 
back piazza which commanded a view of the 
mountain range. She always claimed the en- 
tire credit of Clover’s match, declaring that 
if she had not matronized her out to the 
Valley and introduced her and Geoff to each 
other, they would never have met. Her 
droll airs of proprietorship over their hap- 
piness were infinitely amusing to Clover. 

“ I think we should have got at each other 
somehow, even if you had not been in exist- 
ence,” she told her friend ; “ marriages are 
made in Heaven, as we all know. Nobody 
could have prevented ours.” 

“ My dear, that is just where you are mis- 
taken. Nothing is easier than to prevent 
marriages. A mere straw will do it. Look 
at the countless old maids all over the world ; 
and probably nearly every one of them came 
within half an inch of perfect happiness, and 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


177 


just missed it. No, depend upon it, there is 
nothing like a wise, judicious, discriminating 
friend at such junctures, to help matters 
along. You may thank me that Geoff is n’t 
at this moment wedded to some stiff-necked 
British maiden, and you eating your head 
off in single-blessedness at Burnet.” 

“Rubbish!” said Clover. “Neither of us 
is capable of it ; ” but Mrs. Hope stuck to 
her convictions. 

She was delighted to see them, as she al- 
ways was, and no less the bottle of beautiful 
cream, the basket full of fresh lettuces, and 
the bunch of Mariposa lilies which they had 
brought. Clover never went into St. Helen’s 
empty-handed. 

Here they took luncheon No. 1, — consist- 
ing of sponge-cake and claret-cup, partaken 
of while gazing across at Cheyenne Mountain, 
which was at one of its most beautiful mo- 
ments, all aerial blue streaked with sharp sun- 
shine at the summit. It was the one defect 
of the High Valley, Clover thought, that it 
gave no glimpse of Cheyenne. 

12 


178 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Luncheon No. 2 came a little later, with 
Marian Chase, whom every one still called 
“ Poppy ” from preference and long habit. 
She was perfectly well now, but she and her 
family had grown so fond of St. Helen’s that 
there was no longer any talk of their going 
back to the East. She had just had some 
beautiful California plums sent her by an ad- 
mirer, and insisted on Clover’s eating them 
with an accompaniment of biscuits and “ nat- 
ural soda water.” 

“ I want you and Alice Perham to come 
out next week for two nights,” said Clover, 
while engaged in this agreeable occupation. 
“ My friend Mrs. Browne arrives to-day, and 
she is by far the greatest treat we have ever 
had to offer to any one since we lived in the 
Valley. You will delight in her, I know. 
Could you come on Monday in the stage to 
the Ute Hotel, if we sent the carryall over 
to meet you ? ” 

“ Why, of course. I never have any en- 
gagements when a chance comes for going to 
the dear Valley; and Alice has none, I am 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


179 


pretty sure. It will be perfectly delightful ! 
Clover, you are an angel, — ‘ the Angel of 
the Penstamen ’ 1 mean to call you,” glancing 
at the great sheaf of purple and white flowers 
which Clover had brought. “ It ’s a very 
good name. As for Elsie, she is ‘ Our Lady 
of Raspberries ; ’ I never saw such beauties as 
she fetched in week before last.” 

Some very multifarious shopping for the 
two households followed, and by that time it 
was two o’clock and they were quite ready for 
luncheon No. 3, — soup and sandwiches, pro- 
cured at a restaurant. They were just coming 
away when an open carriage passed them, silk- 
lined, with a crest on the panel, jingling curb- 
chains, and silver-plated harnesses, all after 
the latest modern fashion, and drawn by a 
pair of fine gray horses. Inside was a young 
man, who returned a stiff bow to Clover’s sal- 
utation, and a gorgeously gowned young lady 
with rather a handsome face. 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Thurber Wade, I declare,” 
observed Geoffrey. “ I heard that they were 
expected” 


180 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Yes, Mrs. Wade is so pleased to have 
them come for the summer. We must go and 
call some day, Geoff, when I happen to have 
on my best bonnet. Do you think we ought 
to ask them out to the Valley ? ” 

“ That’s just as you please. I don’t mind 
if he doesn’t. What fine horses. Aren’t 
you conscious of a little qualm of regret, 
Clover?” 

"What for ? I don’t know what you mean. 
Don’t be absurd,” was all the reply he re- 
ceived, or in fact deserved. 

And now it was time to go to the train. 
The minutes seemed long while they waited, 
but presently came the well-known shriek and 
rumble, and there was Rose herself, dimpled 
and smiling at the window, looking not a whit 
older than on the day of Katy’s wedding 
seven years before. There was little Rose too, 
but she was by no means so unchanged as 
her mother, and certainly no longer little, 
surprisingly tall on the contrary, with her 
golden hair grown brown and braided in a 
pig-tail, actually a pig-tail. She had the 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


181 


same bloom and serenity, however, and the 
same sedate, investigating look in her eyes. 
There was Mr. Browne too, but he was a 
brief joy, for there was only time to shake 
hands and exchange dates and promises of 
return, before the train started and bore him 
away toward Pueblo. 

“Now,” said Rose, who seemed quite un- 
quenched by her three days of travel, “ don’t 
let ’s utter one word till we are in the car- 
riage, and then don’t let ’s stop one moment 
for two weeks.” 

“ In the first place,” she began, as the car- 
ryall, mounting the hill, turned into Monu- 
ment Avenue, where numbers of new houses 
had been built of late years, Queen Anne cot- 
tages in brick and stone, timber, and con- 
crete, with here and there a more ambitious 
“ villa ” of pink granite, all surrounded with 
lawns and rosaries and vine-hung verandas 
and tinkling fountains. “ In the first place I 
wish to learn where all these people and 
houses come from. I was told that you lived 
in a lodge in the wilderness, but though I see 


182 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


plenty of lodges the wilderness seems want- 
ing. Is this really an infant settlement ? ” 

“ It really is. That is, it has n’t come of 
age yet, being not quite twenty-one years old. 
Oh, you ’ve no notion about our Western 
towns, Rose. They ’re born and grown up 
all in a minute, like Hercules strangling the 
snakes in his cradle. I don’t at all wonder 
that you are surprised.” 

“ ‘ Surprised ’ does n’t express it. 6 Flabber- 
gasted,’ though low, comes nearer my mean- 
ing. I have been breathless ever since we 
left Albany. First there was that enormous 
Chicago which knocked me all of a heap, 
then Denver, then that enchanting ride over 
the Divide, and now this ! Never did I see 
such flowers or such colored rocks, and never 
did any one breathe such air. It sweeps all 
the dust and fatigue out of one in a minute. 
Boston seems quite small and dull in com- 
parison, doesn’t it, Roslem?’’ 

“ It is n’t so big, but I love it the most,” 
replied that small person from the front seat, 
where she sat soberly taking all things in. 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


183 


“ Mamma, Uncle Geoff says I may drive when 
we get to the foot of a long hill we are just 
coming to. You won’t be afraid, will you ? ” 

“ N-o ; not if Uncle Geoff will keep his eye 
on the reins and stand ready to seize them if 
the horses begin to run. Rose just expresses 
my feelings,” she continued ; “ but this is as 
beautiful as it is big. What is the name of 
that enchanting mountain over there, — Chey- 
enne ? Why, yes, — that is the one that you 
used to write about in your letters when you 
first came out, I remember. It never made 
much impression on me, — mountains never 
seem high in letters, somehow, but now I 
don’t wonder. It ’s the loveliest thing I ever 
saw.” 

Clover was much pleased at Rose’s apprecia- 
tion of her favorite mountain, and also with 
the intelligent way in which she noted every- 
thing they passed. Her eyes were as quick 
as her tongue ; chattering all the time, she 
yet missed nothing of interest. The poppy- 
strewn plain, the green levels of the mesa 
delighted her; so did the wide stretches 


184 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


of blue distance, and she screamed with joy 
at the orange and red pinnacles in Odin’s 
Garden. 

“ It is a land of wonders,” she declared. 
“When I think how all my life I have been 
content to amble across the Common, and 
down Winter Street to Hovey’s, and now and 
then by way of adventure take the car to the 
Back Bay, and that I felt all the while as if I 
were getting the cream and pick of everything, 
I am astonished at my own stupidity. Rose, 
are you not glad I did not let you catch 
whooping cough from Margaret Lyon ? you 
were bent on doing it, you remember. If I 
had given you your way we should not be 
here now.” 

Rose only smiled in reply. She was used to 
her little mother’s vagaries and treated them 
in general with an indulgent inattention. 

The sun was quite gone from the ravines, 
but still lingered on the snow-powdered peaks 
above, when the carriage climbed the last steep 
zigzag and drew up before the “Hut,” whose 
upper windows glinted with the waning light. 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


185 


Rose looked about her and drew a long breath 
of surprise and pleasure. 

“ It is n’t a bit like what I thought it would 
be/’ she said ; “ but it’s heaps and heaps more 
beautiful. I simply put it at the head of all 
the places I ever saw.” Then Elsie came run- 
ning on to the porch, and Rose jumped out 
into her arms. 

“ I thank the goodness and the grace 
That on my birth has smiled, 

And brought me to this blessed place 
A happy Boston child ! ” 

she cried, hugging Elsie rapturously. “ You 
dear thing ! how well you look ! and how 
perfect it all is up here ! And this is Mr. 
Page, whom I have known all about ever 
since the Hillsover days ! and this is dear 
little Geoff ! Clover, his eyes are exactly 
like yours ! And where is your baby, Elsie ? ” 
“ Little wretch ! she would go to sleep. I 
told her you were coming, and I did all I 
could, short of pinching, to keep her awake, 
— sang, and repeated verses, and danced her 
up and down, but it was all of no use. She 


186 


IN THE HIGH YALLEY. 


would put her knuckles in her eyes, and 
whimper and fret, and at last I had to give 
in. Babies are perfectly unmanageable when 
they are sleepy.” 

“ Most of us are. It ’s just as well. I can't 
half take it in as it is. It is much better 
to keep something for to-morrow. The drive 
was perfect, and the Valley is twice as beau- 
tiful as I expected it to be. And now I want 
to go into the house.” 

Elsie had devoted her day to setting forth 
the Hut to advantage. She and Boxy had 
been to the very top of the East Canyon 
for flowers, and returned loaded with spoil. 
Bunches of coreopsis and vermilion-tipped 
painter’ s-brush adorned the chimney-piece ; 
tall spikes of yucca rose from an Indian jar 
in one corner of the room, and a splendid 
sheaf of yellow columbines from another ; 
fresh kinnikinick was looped and wreathed 
about the pictures ; and on the dining-table 
stood, most beautiful and fragile of all, a 
bowlful of Mariposa lilies, their delicate, lilac- 
streaked bells poised on stems so slender 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


187 


that the fairy shapes seemed to float in air, 
supported at their own sweet will. There 
were roses, too, and fragrant little knots of 
heliotrope and mignonette. With these Rose 
was familiar; the wild flowers were all new 
to her. 

She ran from vase to vase in a rapture. 
They could scarcely get her upstairs to 
take off her things. Such a bright even- 
ing followed ! Clover declared that she had 
not laughed so much in all the seven years 
since they parted. Rose seemed to fit at 
once and perfectly into the life of the place, 
while at the same time she brought the 
breath of her own more varied and differ- 
ent life to freshen and widen it. They all 
agreed that they had never had a visitor 
who gave so much and enjoyed so much. 
She and Geoffrey made friends at once, 
greatly to Clover's delight, and Clarence 
took to her in a manner astonishing to his 
wife, for he was apt to eschew strangers, 
and escape them when he could. 

They all woke in the morning to a sense 
of holiday. 


188 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Boys,” said Elsie at breakfast, “ this is n’t 
at all a common, every-day day, and I don ’t 
want to do every-day things in it. I want 
something new and unusual to happen. Can’t 
you abjure those wretched beasts of yours for 
once, and come with us to that sweet little 
canyon at the far end of the Ute, where we 
went the summer after I was married ? We 
want to show it to Rose, and the weather is 
simply perfect.” 

“ Yes, if you ’ll give us half an hour or so 
to ride up and speak to Manuel.” 

“ All right. It will take at least as long as 
that to get ready.” 

So Choo Loo hastily broiled chickens and 
filled bottles with coffee and cream; and by 
half-past nine they were off, children and all, 
some on horseback, and some in the carryall 
with the baskets, to Elsie’s “ sweet little can- 
yon,” over which Pike’s Peak rose in lonely 
majesty like a sentinel at an outpost, and 
where flowers grew so thickly that, as Rose 
wrote her husband, “ it was harder to find 
the in-betweens than the blossoms.” They 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


189 


came back, tired, hungry, and happy, just at 
nightfall ; so it was not till the second day 
that Rose met the Youngs, about whom her 
curiosity was considerably excited. It seemed 
so odd, she said, to have “only neighbors/’ 
and it made them of so much consequence. 

They had been asked to dinner to meet 
Rose, which was a very formal and festive 
invitation for the High Valley, though the 
dinner must perforce be much as usual, and 
the party was inevitably the same. Imogen 
felt that it was an occasion, and wishing to 
do credit to it, she unpacked a gown which 
had not seen the light before since her ar- 
rival, and which had done duty as a dinner 
dress for two or three years at Bideford. It 
was of light blue mousselaine-de-laine, made 
with a “half-high top” and elbow sleeves, 
and trimmed with cheap lace. A necklace 
of round coral beads adorned her throat, and 
a comb of the same material her hair, which 
was done up in a series of wonderful loops 
filleted with narrow blue ribbons. She car- 
ried a pink fan. Lionel, who liked bright 


190 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


colors, was charmed at the effect; and alto- 
gether she set out in good spirits for the 
walk down the Pass, though she was pre- 
pared to be afraid of Rose, of whose bril- 
liancy she had heard a little too much to 
make the idea of meeting her quite com- 
fortable. 

The party had just gathered in the sitting- 
room as they entered. Clover and Elsie were 
in pretty cotton dresses, as usual, and Rose, 
following their lead, had put on what at 
home she would have considered a morning 
gown, of linen lawn, white, with tiny bunches 
of forget-me-nots scattered over it, and a 
jabot of lace and blue ribbon. These toi- 
lettes seemed unduly simple to Imogen, who 
said within herself, complacently, “There is 
one thing the Americans don’t seem to under- 
stand, and that is the difference between com- 
mon dressing and a regular dinner dress,” — 
preening herself the while in the sky-blue 
mousselaine-de-laine, and quite unconscious 
that Rose was inwardly remarking, “My! 
where did she get that gown ? I never saw 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


191 


anything like it. It must have been made 
for Mrs. Noah, some years before the ark. 
And her hair! just the ark style, too, and 
calculated to frighten the animals into good 
behavior and obedience during the bad 
weather. Well, I put it at the head of all 
the extraordinary things I ever saw.” 

It is just as well, on the whole, that people 
are not able to read each others thoughts in 
society. 

“ You ’ve only just come to America, I 
hear,” said Rose, taking a chair near Imo- 
gen. “Do you begin to feel at home yet?” 

“ Oh, pretty well for that. I don’t fancy 
that one ever gets to be quite at home any- 
where out of their own country. It ’s very 
different over here from England, of course.” 

“ Yes, but some parts of America are more 
different than some other parts. You haven’t 
seen much of us as yet.” 

“ No, but all the parts I have seen seemed 
very much alike.” 

“The High Valley and New York, for 
example.” 


192 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Oh, I was n’t thinking of New York. I 
mean the plains and mountains and the West- 
ern towns. We did n’t stop at any of them, 
of course ; but seen from the railway they all 
look pretty much the same, — wooden houses, 
you know, and all that.” 

“What astonished us most was the dis- 
tance,” said Rose. “ Of course we all learned 
from our maps, when we were at school, just 
how far it is across the continent ; but I 
never realized it in the least till I saw it. 
It seemed so wonderful to go on day after 
day and never get to the end ! ” 

“ Only about half-way to the end,” put 
in Clover. “ That question of distance is a 
great surprise ; and if it perplexes you, Rose, 
it is n’t wonderful that it should perplex for- 
eigners. Do you recollect that Englishman, 
Geoff, whom we met at the table d'hote at 
Llanberis, when we were in Wales, and who 
accounted for the Charleston earthquake by 
saying that he supposed it had something to 
do with those hot springs close by.” 

“ What hot springs did he mean ? ” 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


193 


“ I am sure you would never guess unless 
I told you. The hot springs in the Yellow- 
stone Park, to be sure, — simply those, and 
nothing more ! And when I explained that 
Charleston and the Yellowstone were about 
as distant from each other as Siberia and 
the place we were in, he only stared and 
remarked, ‘Oh, I think you must be mis- 
taken/ ” 

“ And are they so far apart, then ? ” asked 
Imogen, innocently. 

“ Oh, Moggy, Moggy ! what were your 
geography teachers thinking about ? ” cried 
her brother. “ It seems sometimes as if 
America were entirely left out of the maps 
used in English schools.” 

“Lionel,” said his sister, “how can you 
say such things? It isn’t so at all; but of 
course we learned more about the important 
countries.” Imogen spoke quite artlessly ; 
she had no intention of being rude. 

“ Great Scott ! ” muttered Clarence under 
his breath, while Eose flashed a look at 
Clover. 


13 


194 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Of course/’ she said, sweetly, “ Burmah 
and Afghanistan and New Zealand and the 
Congo States would naturally interest you 
more, — large heathen populations to Chris- 
tianize and exterminate. There is nothing 
like fire and sword to establish a bond.” 

“ Oh, I did n’t mean that. Of course Amer- 
ica is much larger than those countries.” 

“ ‘ Plenty of us such as we are/ ” quoted 
the wicked Rose. 

“ And pretty good what there is - of us,” 
added Clover, glad of the appearance of din- 
ner just then to create a diversion. 

“ That ’s quite a dreadful little person,” re- 
marked Rose, as they stood at the doorway 
two hours later, watching the guests walk up 
the trail under the light of a glorious full 
moon. “Her mind is just one inch across. 
You keep falling off the edge and hurting 
yourself. It’s sad that she should be your 
only neighbor. I don’t seem to like her a bit, 
and I predict that you will yet have some 
dreadful sort of a row with her, Clovy.” 

“ Indeed we shall not ; nothing of the kind. 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


195 


She ’s really a good little thing at bottom ; 
this angularity and stiffness that you object 
to is chiefly manner. Wait till she has been 
here long enough to learn the ways and wake 
up, and you will like her.” 

“I’ll wait,” said Rose, dryly. “How 
much time should you say would be neces- 
sary, Clover? A hundred years? I should 
think it would take at least as long as 
that.” 

“Lionel’s a dear fellow. We are all very 
fond of him.” 

“ I can understand your being fond of him 
easily enough. Imogen ! what a name for 
just that kind of girl. ( Image ’ it ought to be. 
What a figure of fun she was in that awful 
blue gown ! ” 

The two weeks of Rose’s visit sped only 
too rapidly. There was so much that they 
wanted to show her, and there were so many 
people whom they wanted her to see, and so 
many people who, as soon as they saw her, be- 
came urgent that she should do this and that 
with them, that life soon became a tangle of im- 


196 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


possibilities. Rose was one of those charmers 
that cannot be hid. She had been a belle all 
her days, and she would be so till she died 
of old age, as Elsie told her. Her friends of 
the High Valley gloried in her success; but 
all the time they had a private longing to 
keep her more to themselves, as one retires 
with two or three to enjoy a choice dainty of 
which there is not enough to go round in a 
larger company. They took her to the Chey- 
enne Canyons and the top of Pike’s Peak ; 
they carried her over the Marshall Pass and 
to many smaller places less known to fame, 
but no less charming in their way. Invita- 
tions poured in from St. Helen’s, to lunch, to 
dinner, to afternoon teas ; but of these Rose 
would none. She could lunch and dine in 
Boston, she declared, but she might never 
come to Colorado again, and what she thirsted 
for was canyons, and not less than one a day 
would content her insatiable appetite for 
them. 

But though she would not go to St. Helen’s, 
St. Helen’s in a measure came to her. Marian 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


197 


Chase and Alice made their promised visit; 
Dr. and Mrs. Hope came out more than once, 
and Phil continually ; while smart Bostonians 
whom Clover had never heard of turned up at 
Canyon Creek and the Ute Valley and drove 
over to call, having heard that Mrs. Denis- 
ton Browne was staying there. The High 
Valley became used to the roll of wheels and 
the tramp of horses’ feet, and for the moment 
seemed a sociable, accessible sort of place to 
which it was a matter of course that people 
should repair. It was oddly different from 
the customary order of things, but the change 
was enlivening, and everybody enjoyed it 
with one exception. 

This exception was Imogen Young. She 
was urged to join some of the excursions 
made by her friends below, but on one ex- 
cuse or another she refused. She felt shy 
and left out where all the rest were so well- 
acquainted and so thoroughly at ease, and 
preferred to remain at home ; but all the 
same, to have the others so gay and busy 
gave her a sense of loneliness and separation 


198 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY 


which was painful to bear. Clover tried more 
than once to persuade her out of her soli- 
tary mood ; but she was too much occupied 
herself and too absorbed to take much time 
for coaxing a reluctant guest, and the others 
dispensed with her company quite easily; in 
fact, they were too busy to notice her absence 
much or ask questions. So the fortnight, 
which passed so quickly and brilliantly at the 
Hut, and was always afterward alluded to as 
“ that delightful time when Eose was here,” 
was anything but delightful at the “ Hutlet,” 
where poor Imogen sat homesick and forlorn, 
feeling left alone on one side of all the pleas- 
ant things, scarcely realizing that it was her 
own choice and doing, and wishing herself 
back in Devonshire. 

“ Lion seems quite taken up with these 
new people and that Mrs. Browne,” she re- 
flected. “ He ’s always going off with them 
to one place or another. I might as well be 
back in Bideford for all the use I am to him.” 
This was unjust, for Lionel was anxious and 
worried over his sister’s depressed looks and 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


199 


indisposition to share in the pleasures that 
were going on; but Imogen just then saw 
things through a gloomy medium, and not 
quite as they were. She felt dull and heavy- 
hearted, and did not seem able to rouse her- 
self from her lassitude and weariness. 

Out of the whole party no one was so per- 
fectly pleased with her surroundings as the 
smaller Rose. Everything seemed to suit the 
little maid exactly. She made a delightful 
playfellow for the babies, telling them fairy 
stories by the dozen, and teaching them new 
games, and washing and dressing Phillida with 
all the gravity and decorum of an old nurse. 
They followed her about like two little dogs, 
and never left her side for a moment if they 
could possibly help it. All was fish that came 
to her happy little net, whether it was play- 
ing with little Geoff, going on excursions with 
the elders, scrambling up the steep side-can- 
yons under Phil’s escort in search of flowers 
and curiosities, or riding sober old Marigold 
to the Upper Yalley as she was sometimes 
allowed to do. The only cloud in her per- 


200 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


feet satisfaction was that she must some day 
go away. 

“It won’t be very pleasant when I get 
back to Boston, and don’t have anything to 
do but just walk down Pinckney Street with 
Mary Anne to school, and slide a little bit on 
the Common when the snow comes and there 
are n’t any big boys about, will it, mamma?” 
she said, disconsolately. “ I sha’n’t feel as if 
that were a great deal, I think.” 

“I am afraid the High Valley is a poor 
preparation for West Cedar Street,” laughed 
Rose. “ It mil seem a limited career to both 
of us at first. But cheer up, Poppet ; I ’m 
going to put you into a dancing-class this 
winter, and very likely at Christmas-time 
papa will treat us both to a Moral Drayma. 
There are consolations, even in Boston.” 

“ That ‘ even in Boston ’ is the greatest 
compliment the High Valley ever received,” 
said Clover, who happened to be within hear- 
ing. “ Such a moment will never come to it 
again.” 

And now the last day came, as last days 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


201 


will. Mr. Browne returned from Mexico, 
with forty-eight hours to spare for enjoyment, 
which interval they employed in showing 
him the two things that Bose loved most, — 
namely, the High Valley from top to bottom, 
and the North Cheyenne Canyon. The last 
luncheon was taken at Mrs. Hope's, who had 
collected a few choice spirits in honor of the 
occasion, and then they all took the Roses to 
the train, and sent them off loaded with fruit 
and flowers. 

“ Miss Young was extraordinarily queer and 
dismal last night," said Rose to Clover as they 
stood a little aside from the rest on the plat- 
form. “ I can’t quite see what ails her. She 
looks thinner than when we came, and does n’t 
seem to know how to smile ; depend upon it 
she’s going to be ill, or something. I wish 
you had a pleasanter neighbor, — especially 
as she ’s likely to be the only one for some 
time to come.’’ 

“ Poor thing. I ’ve neglected her of late,’’ 
replied Clover, penitently. “ I must make 
up for it now that you are going away. 


202 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Really, I could n’t take my time for her while 
you were here, Rosy.” 

"And I certainly could n’t let you. I should 
have resented it highly if you had. Oh dear, 
— there’s that whistle. We really have got 
to go. I hoped to the last that something 
might happen to keep us another day. Oh 
dear Clover, — I wish we lived nearer each 
other. This country of ours is a great deal 
too wide.” 

“ Geoff,” said Clover, as they slowly climbed 
the hill, u I never felt before that the High 
Valley was too far away from people, but 
somehow I do to-night. It is quite terrible 
to have Rose go, and to feel that I may not 
see her again for years.” 

"Did you want to go with her?” 

" And leave you ? No, dearest. But I 
am quite sure that there are no distances in 
Heaven, and when we get there we shall find 
that we all are to live next door to each other. 
It will be part of the happiness.” 

"Perhaps so. Meanwhile I am thankful 
that my happiness lives close to me now. I 


THORNS AND ROSES. 


203 


don’t have to wait till Heaven for that, which 
is the reason perhaps that for some years past 
Earth has seemed so very satisfactory to me.” 

“ Geoff, what an uncommonly nice way 
you have of putting things,” said Clover, 
nestling her head comfortably on his arm. 
“ On the whole I don’t think the High Val- 
ley is so very far away.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 

VE you seen Imogen Young to- 
day ? ” was Clover’s first question 
on getting home. 

“ No. Lionel was in for a moment at noon, 
and said she was preserving raspberries ; so, 
as I had a good deal to do, I did not go up. 
Why?” 

“ Oh, nothing in particular. I only wanted 
to know. Well, here we are, left to ourselves 
with not a Rose to our name. How we shall 
miss them! There’s a letter from Johnnie 
for you by way of consolation.” 

But the letter did not prove in the least 
consoling, for it was to break to them a piece 
of disappointing news. 

“ The Daytons have given up their Western 
trip,” wrote Johnnie. “ Mrs. Dayton’s father 



UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 205 

is very ill at Elberon ; she has gone to him, and 
there is almost no chance of their getting 
away at all this summer. It really is a dread- 
ful disappointment, for we had set our hearts 
on our visit, and papa had made all his ar- 
rangements to be absent for six weeks, — 
which you know is a thing not easily done, or 
undone. Then Debby and Richard had been 
promised a holiday, and Dorry was going in 
a yacht with some friends to the Thousand 
Islands. It all seemed so nicely settled, and 
here comes this blow to unsettle it. Well, 
Dieu dispose , — there is nothing for it but res- 
ignation, and unpacking our hopes and ideas 
and putting them back again in their usual 
shelves and corners. We must make what 
we can of the situation, and of course, it is n’t 
anything so very hard to have to pass the 
summer in Burnet with papa ; still I was that 
wild with disappointment at the first, that I 
actually went the length of suggesting that 
we should go all the same, and pay our own 
travelling expenses l You can judge from this 
how desperate my state of mind must have 


206 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


been ! Papa, as you may naturally suppose, 
promptly vetoed the proposal as impossible, 
and no doubt he was right. I am growing 
gradually resigned to Fate now, but all the 
same I cannot yet think of the blessed Valley 
and all of you, and — and the happy time we 
are not going to have, without feeling quite 
like ‘ weeping a little weep.’ How I wish that 
we possessed a superfluous income ! ” 

“ Now,” said Elsie, and her voice too sounded 
as if a “ little weep ” were not far off, “ is n’t 
that too bad ? No papa this year, and no John- 
nie. I suppose we are spoiled, but the fact is, 
I have grown to count on the Daytons and 
their car as confidently as though they were 
the early and the latter rain.” Her arch little 
face looked quite long and disconsolate. 

“ So have I,” said Clover. “ It does n’t bear 
talking about, does it ? ’’ 

She had been conscious of late of a great 
longing after her father. She had counted 
confidently on his visit, and the sense of dis- 
appointment was bitter. She put away her 
bonnet and folded her gloves with a very 



“ Missy not very well, me thinkee,” he observed. 

Page 207. 






UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 207 


sober face. A sort of disenchantment seemed 
to have fallen on the Valley since the coming 
of this bad news and the departure of Rose. 

“ This will never do,’’ she told herself at 
last, after standing some moments at the win- 
dow looking across at the peak through a blur 
of tears, — “ I must brace up and comfort El- 
sie.” But Elsie was not to be comforted all 
at once, and the wheels of that evening drave 
rather heavily. 

Next morning, as soon as her usual tasks 
were despatched, Clover ordered Marigold sad- 
dled and started for the Youngs’. Rose’s last 
remarks had made her uneasy about Imogen, 
and she remembered with compunction how 
little she had seen of her for a fortnight past. 

No one but Sholto, Lionel’s great deer- 
hound, came out to meet her as she dis- 
mounted at the door. His bark of welcome 
brought Ah Lee from the back of the house. 

“ Missee not velly well, me thinkee,” he 
observed. 

“ Is Missy ill ? Where is Mr. Young, then ? ” 

“ He go two hours ago to Uppey Valley. 
Missee not sick then.” 


208 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Is she in her room ? ’’ asked Clover. “ Tie 
Marigold in the shade, please, and I will go in 
and see her.” 

“All litee” 

The bed-room door was closed, and Clover 
tapped twice before she heard a languid 
“ Come in.’' Imogen was lying on the bed 
in her morning-dress, with flushed cheeks and 
tumbled hair. She looked at Clover with a 
sort of perplexed surprise. 

“My poor child, what is the matter? Have 
you a bad headache ? ” 

“Yes, I think so, rather bad. I kept up 
till Lion had had his breakfast, and then 
everything seemed to go round, and I had 
to come and lie down. So stupid of me ! ” 
impatiently; “but I thought perhaps it 
would pass off after a little.” 

“ And has it ? ” asked Clover, pulling off 
her gloves and taking Imogen’s hand. It was 
chilly rather than hot, but the pulse seemed 
weak and quick. Clover began to feel anx- 
ious, but did her best to hide it under a cheer- 
ful demeanor lest she should startle Imogen. 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 209 


“Were you quite well yesterday ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Yes, — that is, I was n’t ill. I had no 
headache then, but I think I have n’t been 
quite right for some time back, and I tried 
to do some raspberries and felt very tired. 
I dare say it’s only getting acclimated. I’m 
really very strong. Nothing ever was the 
matter with me at home.” 

“ Now,” said Clover, brightly, “ I ’ll tell you 
what you are going to do ; and that is to put 
on your wrapper, make yourself comforta- 
ble, and take a long sleep. I have come to 
spend the day, and I will give Lion his lun- 
cheon and see to everything if only you will 
lie still. A good rest would make you feel 
better, I am sure.” 

61 Perhaps so,” said Imogen, doubtfully. She 
was too miserable to object, and with a do- 
cility foreign to her character submitted to 
be undressed, to have her hair brushed and 
knotted up, and a bandage of cold water and 
eau de cologne laid on her forehead. This 
passive compliance was so unlike her that 

14 


210 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


Clover felt her anxieties increase. “ Matters 
must be serious,” she reflected, “ when Imo- 
gen Young agrees meekly to any proposal 
from anybody.” 

She settled her comfortably, shook up 
the pillows, darkened the window, threw 
a light shawl over her, and sat beside the 
bed fanning gently till Imogen fell into a 
troubled sleep. Then she stole softly away 
and busied herself in washing the breakfast 
things and putting the rooms to rights. The 
young mistress of the house had evidently 
felt unequal to her usual tasks, and every- 
thing was left standing just as it was. 

Clover was recalled by a cry from the bed- 
room, and hurried back to find Imogen sitting 
up, looking confused and startled. 

“ What is it ? Is anything the matter ? ” 
she demanded. Then, before Clover could 
reply, she came to herself and understood. 

“ Oh, it is you,” she said. “ What a com- 
fort ! I thought you were gone away.” 

“ No, indeed, I have no idea of going away. 
I was just in the other room, straightening 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 211 

things out a little. It was settled that I was 
to stay to lunch and keep Lionel company, 
you remember.” 

“ Ah, yes. It is very good of you, but I ’m 
afraid there is n’t much for luncheon,” sink- 
ing back on her pillows again. “ Ah Lee will 
know. I don’t seem able to think clearly 
of anything.” She sighed, and presently was 
asleep again, or seemed to be so, and Clover 
went back to her work. 

So it went all day, — broken slumbers, con- 
fused wakings, increasing fever, and occasional 
moments of bewilderment. Clover was sure 
that it was a serious illness, and sent Lionel 
down with a note to say that either Geoff or 
Clarence must go in at once and bring out 
Dr. Hope, that she herself was a fixture at 
the other house for the night at least, and 
would like a number of things sent up, of 
which she inclosed a list. This note threw 
the family into a wild dismay. Life in the 
High Valley was only meant for well people, 
as Elsie had once admitted. Illness at once 
made the disadvantages of so lonely and in- 


212 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


accessible a place apparent, — with the doctor 
sixteen miles distant, and no medicines or 
other appliances of a sick-room to be had 
short of St. Helen’s. 

Dr. Hope reached them late in the evening. 
He pronounced that Imogen had an attack of 
“ mountain fever,” a milder sort of typhoid 
not uncommon in the higher elevations of 
Colorado. He hoped it would be a light case, 
gave full directions, and promised to send out 
medicines and to come again in three days. 
Then he departed, and Clover, as she watched 
him ride down the trail, felt as a shipwrecked 
mariner might, left alone on a desert island, 
— astray and helpless, and quite at a loss as 
to what first to do. 

There were too many things to be done, 
however, to allow of her long indulging this 
feeling, and presently her wits cleared and 
she was able to confront the task before her 
with accustomed sense and steadiness. Imo- 
gen could not be left alone, that was evident ; 
and it was equally evident that she herself 
was the person who must stay with her. 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 213 


Elsie could not be spared from her baby, and 
Geoffrey, beside being more especially inter- 
ested in the Youngs, would be far more amen- 
able and less refractory than Clarence at a 
curtailment of his domestic privileges. So, 
pluckily and reasonably, she “ buckled to n 
the work so plainly set for her, established 
herself and her belongings in the spare 
chamber, gathered the reins of the house- 
hold and the sick-room into her hands, and 
began upon what she knew might prove to 
be a long, hard bout of patience and vigi- 
lance, resolved to do her best each day as 
it came and let the next day take care of 
itself, minding nothing, no fatigue or home- 
sickness or difficulty, if only Imogen could 
be properly cared for and get well. 

After the first day or two matters fell into 
regular grooves. The attack proved a light 
one, as the doctor had hoped. Imogen was 
never actually in danger, but there was a 
good deal of weakness and depression, occa- 
sional wandering of mind, and always the low, 
underlying fever, not easily detected save by 


214 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


the clinical thermometer. In her semi- 
delirious moments she would ramble about 
Bideford and the people there, or hold Clo- 
ver’s hand tight, calling her “Isabel,” and 
imploring her not to like “Mrs. Geoff” better 
than she liked her. It was the first glimpse 
that Clover had ever caught of this unhappy 
tinge of jealousy in Imogen’s mind ; it grieved 
her, but it also explained some things that 
had been perplexing, and she grew very pit- 
iful and tender over the poor girl, away 
from home among strangers, and so ill and 
desolate. 

The most curious thing about it all was 
the extraordinary preference which the pa- 
tient showed for Clover above all her other 
nurses. If Euphane came to sit beside her, 
or Elsie, or even Lionel, while Clover took a 
rest, Imogen was manifestly uneasy and un- 
happy. She never said that she missed Clo- 
ver, but lay watching the door with a strained, 
expectant look, which melted into relief as 
soon as Clover appeared. Then she would 
feebly move her fingers to lay hold of Clo- 


UNCONDITIONAL SUBRENDER. 215 

ver’s hand, and holding it fast, would fall 
asleep satisfied and content. It seemed as if 
the sense of comfort which Clover’s appear- 
ance that first morning had given continued 
when she was not quite herself, and influenced 
her. 

“ It ’s queer how much better she likes you 
than any of the rest of us,” Lionel said one 
day. Clover felt oddly pleased at this re- 
mark. It was a new experience to be pre- 
ferred by Imogen Young, and she could not 
but be gratified. 

“Though very likely,” she told herself, 
“ she will stiffen up again when she gets well ; 
so I must be prepared for it, and not mind 
when it happens.” 

Meanwhile Imogen could not have been 
better cared for anywhere than she was in 
the High Valley. Clover had a natural apti- 
tude for nursing. She knew by instinct what 
a sick person would like and dislike, what 
would refresh and what weary, what must be 
remembered and what avoided. Her inven- 
tive faculties also came into full play under 


216 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


the pressure of the little daily emergencies, 
when exactly the thing wanted was sure not 
to be at hand. It was quite wonderful how 
she devised substitutes for all sorts of deficien- 
cies. Elsie, amazed at her cleverness, declared 
herself sure that if Dr. Hope were to say that 
a roc’s egg was needful for Imogen’s recovery, 
Clover would reply, as a matter of course, “ Cer- 
tainly, — I will send it up directly,” and there- 
upon proceed to concoct one out of materials 
already in the house, which would answer as 
well as the original article and do Imogen 
just as much good. She cooked the nicest 
little sick-room messes, giving them variety by 
cunningly devised flavors, and she originated 
cooling drinks out of sago and arrowroot and 
tamarinds and fruit juices and ice, which Imo- 
gen would take when she refused everything 
else. Her lightness of touch and bright, equa- 
ble calmness were unfailing. Dr. Hope said 
she would make the fortune of any ordinary 
hospital, and that she was so evidently cut 
out for a nurse that it seemed a clear subver- 
sion of the plans of Providence that she 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 217 

should ever have married, — a speech for 
which the doctor got little thanks from any 
body, for Clover declared that she hated hos- 
pitals and sick folks, and never wanted to 
nurse anybody but the people she loved best, 
and then only when she could n’t help herself ; 
while Geoffrey treated the facetious physician 
to the blackest of frowns, and privately con- 
fided to Elsie that the doctor, good fellow that 
he was, deserved a kicking, and he should n’t 
mind being the one to administer it. 

By the end of a fortnight the fever was con- 
quered, and then began the slow process of 
building up exhausted strength, and fanning 
the dim spark of life once again into a gen- 
erous flame. This is apt to be the most try- 
ing part of an illness to those who nurse ; the 
excitement of anxiety and danger being past, 
the space between convalescence and complete 
recovery seems very wide, and hard to bridge 
over. Clover found it so. Imogen’s strength 
came back slowly ; all her old vigor and deci- 
sion seemed lost ; she was listless and despond- 
ent, and needed to be coaxed and encouraged 
and cheered as much as does an ailing child. 


218 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


She did not “stiffen,” however, as Clover 
had feared she might do ; on the contrary, her 
dependence upon her favorite nurse seemed 
to increase, and on the days when she was 
most languid and hopeless she clung most to 
her. There was a wistful look in her eyes 
as they followed Clover in her comings and 
goings, and a new, tender tone in her voice 
when she spoke to her ; but she said little, 
and after she was able to sit up just lay back 
in her chair and gazed at the mountains in a 
dreamy fashion for hours together. 

“ This will never do,” Lionel declared. 
“We must hearten her up somehow,” which 
he proceeded to do, after the blundering 
fashion of the ordinary man, by a series of 
thrilling anecdotes about cattle and their 
vagaries, refractory cows who turned upon 
their herders and “horned” them, and wild 
steers who chased mounted men, overtook 
and gored them ; how Felipe was stampeded 
and Pepe just escaped with his life. The re- 
sult of this “heartening,” process was that 
Imogen, in her weak state, conceived a horror 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 219 


of ranch work, and passed the hours of his 
absence in a subdued agony of apprehension 
concerning him. He was very surprised and 
contrite when scolded by Clover. 

“ What shall I talk to her about, then ? ” 
he demanded ruefully. “ I cant bear to see 
her sit so dull and silent. Poor Moggy ! and 
cattle are the only subjects of conversation 
that we have up here.” 

“ Talk about yourself and herself and the 
funny things that happened when you were 
little, and pet her all you can; but pray 
don’t allude to horned animals of any kind. 
She’s so quiet only because she is weak. 
Presently we shall see her brighten.” 

And so they did. With the first breath of 
autumn, full of cool sparkle and exhilaration, 
Imogen began to rally. Color stole back to 
her lips, vigor to her movements ; each day 
she could do a little and a little more. Her 
first coming out to dinner was treated as a 
grand event. She was placed in a cushioned 
chair and served like a queen. Lionel was 
in raptures at seeing her in her old place, 


220 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


at the head of the table, “ better than new,' 
as he asserted; and certainly Imogen had 
never in her life been so pretty. They had 
cut her long hair during the illness because 
it was falling out so fast; the short rings 
round her face were very becoming, the sun- 
burn of the summer had worn off and her 
complexion was delicately fair. Clover had 
dressed her in a loose jacket of pale-pink 
flannel which Elsie had fitted and made for 
her ; it was trimmed with soft frills of lace, 
and knots of ribbon, and Geoff had brought 
up a half-opened tea rose which exactly 
matched it. 

“ I shall carry you home with me when I 
go,” she told Imogen as she helped her un- 
dress. “ You must come down and make us 
a good long visit. I can’t and won’t have 
you left alone up here, to keep the house 
and sit for hours every day imagining that 
Lionel is being gored by wild bulls.” 

“ When you go ? ” repeated Imogen, in a 
dismayed tone ; “ but yes, of course you 
must go — what was I thinking of?” 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 221 

“ Not while you need me/’ said Clover, 
soothingly. “ But you are nearly well now, 
and will soon be able to do everything 
for yourself.” 

“ I am absolutely silly/’ said Imogen, with 
her eyes full of tears. “ What extraordinary 
things fevers are ! I declare, I am as bad as 
any child. It is absurd, but the mere idea of 
having to give you up makes me quite cold 
and miserable.” 

“ But you won’t have to give me up ; we 
are going to be neighbors still, and see each 
other every day. And you won’t be ill again, 
you know. You are acclimated now, Dr. 
Hope says.” 

“Yes — I hope so; I am sure I hope so. 
And yet, do you know, I almost think I would 
go through the fever all over again for the 
sake of having you take care of me ! ” 

“ Why, my dear child, what a thing to 
say! It’s the greatest compliment I ever 
had in my life, but yet — ” 

“It’s no compliment at all. I should 
never think of paying you compliments. I 
could n’t.” 


222 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“That is sad for me. Compliments are 
nice things, I think.” 

Imogen suddenly knelt down and put her 
arms on Clovers lap as she sat by the 
window. 

“I want to tell you something,” she said 
in a broken voice. “ I was so unjust when I 
came over, — so rude and unkind in my 
thoughts. You will hardly believe it, but I 
did n’t like you ! ” 

“I can believe it without any particular 
difficulty. Everybody can’t like me, you 
know.” 

“Everybody ought to. You are simply 
the best, dearest, truest person I ever knew. 
Oh, I can’t half say what you are, but I 
know ! You have heaped coals of fire on my 
head. Perhaps that ’s the reason my hair has 
fallen off so,” with a mirthless laugh. “I 
used to feel them burn and burn, on those 
nights when I lay all scorching up with fever, 
and you sat beside me so cool and sweet and 
patient. And there is more still. I was jeal- 
ous because I fancied that Isabel liked you 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 223 

better than she did me. Did you ever sus- 
pect that?” 

“ Never till you were ill. Some little 
things that you muttered when you were not 
quite yourself put the idea into my head.” 

“ I can’t think why I was so idiotic about 
it. Of course she liked you best, — who 
would n’t ? How horrid it was in me to feel 
so ! I used to try hard not to, but it was of 
no use; I kept on all the same.” 

“But you’re not jealous now, I hope?” 

“No, indeed,” shaking her head. “ The feel- 
ing seems all burnt out of me. If I am ever 
jealous again it will be just the other way, 
for fear you will care for her and not at all 
for me.” 

“ I do believe you are making me a decla- 
ration of attachment!” cried Clover, amazed 
beyond expression at this outburst, but in- 
expressibly pleased. The stiff, reserved Imo- 
gen seemed transformed. Her face glowed 
with emotion, her words came in a torrent. 
She was altogether different from her usual 
self. 


224 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Attachment! If I were not attached to 
you I should be the most ungrateful wretch 
going. Here you have stayed away from home 
all these weeks, and worked like a servant 
making me all those lovely lemon-squashes 
and things, and letting your own affairs go to 
wrack and ruin, and you never seemed to re- 
member that you had any affairs, or that there 
was such a thing as getting tired, — never 
seemed to remember anything except to take 
care of me. You are an angel — there is no- 
body like you. I don’t believe any one else 
in the world would have done what you did 
for a stranger who had no claim upon you.” 

“That is absurd,” said Clover, frightened 
at the probable effect of all this excitement 
on her patient, and trying to treat the matter 
lightly. “ You exaggerate things dreadfully. 
We all have a claim on each other, especially 
here in the Valley where there are so few of 
us. If I had been ill you would have turned 
to and helped to nurse me as I did you, I am 
sure.” 

“I shouldn’t have known how.” 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 225 


“You would have learned how just as I 
did. Emergencies are wonderful teachers. 
Now, dear Imogen, you must get to bed. If 
you excite yourself like this you will have 
a bad night and be put back. ,, 

“ Oh, I ’ll sleep. I promise you that I will 
sleep if only you will let me say just one 
more thing. I won’t go on any more about 
the things you have done, though it’s all 
true, — and I don’t exaggerate in the least, 
for all that you say I do; but never mind 
that, only please tell me that you forgive me. 
I can’t rest till you say that.” 

“ For what, — for not liking me at first ; 
for being jealous of Isabel ? Both were nat- 
ural enough, I think. Isabel was your dearest 
friend ; and I was a new-comer, an interloper. 
I never meant to come between you, I am 
sure ; but I daresay that I seemed to do so, 
and I can understand it all easily. There is 
no question of forgiving between us, dear, 
only of forgetting. We are friends now, and 
we will both love Isabel ; and I will love you 
if you will let me, and you shall love me.” 

15 


226 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ How good you are ! ” exclaimed Imogen, 
as Clover bent over for a good-night kiss. 
She put her arms round Clover’s neck and 
held her tight for a moment. 

“Yes, indeed,” she sighed. “I don’t de- 
serve it after my bad behavior, but I shall 
be only too glad if I may be your friend. 
I don’t believe any other girl in the world 
has two so good as you and Isabel.” 

“Don’t lie awake to think over our per- 
fections,” said Clover, as she withdrew with 
the candle. “ Go to sleep, and remember 
that you are coming down to the Hut with 
me for a visit, whenever I go.” 

Dr. Hope, however, negatived this sugges- 
tion decidedly. He was an autocrat with his 
sick people, and no one dared dispute his 
decisions. 

“ What your young woman needs is to get 
away from the Valley for a while into lower 
air ; and what you need is to have her go, 
and forget that you have been nursing her,” 
he told Clover. "There is a look of tension 
about you both which is not the correct 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 227 


thing. She ’ll improve much faster at St. 
Helen’s than here, and besides, I want her 
under my eye for a while. Mary shall send 
up an invitation to-morrow, and mind that 
you make her accept it.” 

So the next day came the most cordial 
of notes from Mrs. Hope, asking Imogen to 
spend a fortnight with her. 

“ Dr. Hope wishes to consider you his pa- 
tient a little longer,” she wrote, “ and says 
the lower level will do you good ; and I 
want you as much as he does for other rea- 
sons. St. Helen’s is rather empty just now, 
in this betwixt-and-between season, and a 
visitor will be a real God-send to me. I am 
so afraid that you will be disobliging, and 
say 6 No/ that I have made the doctor put 
it in the form of a prescription ; and please 
tell Clover that we count upon her to see 
that you begin to take the remedy without 
delay” 

And sure enough, on the doctor’s prescrip- 
tion paper, with the regular appeal to Jupiter 
which heads all prescriptions, a formula was 


228 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


enclosed setting forth with due professional 
precision that Miss Imogen Young was to be 
put in a carryall, “ well shaken ” on the way 
down, and taken in fourteen daily doses in 
the town of St. Helen’s. “ Immediate.” 

“ How very good of them ! ” said Imogen. 
“ Everybody is so wonderfully good to me ! 
I think America must be the kindest coun- 
try in the world ! ” 

She made no difficulty about accepting the 
invitation, and resigned herself to the will 
of her friends with a docility that was aston- 
ishing to everybody except Clover, who was 
in the secret of her new-born resolves. They 
packed her things at once, and Lionel drove 
her down to St. Helen’s the very day after 
the reception of Mrs. Hope’s note. Imogen 
parted from the sisters with a warm embrace, 
but she clung longest to Clover. 

“ You will let me come for a night or two 
when I return, before I settle again at home, 
won’t you ? ” she said. “ I shall be half- 
starved to see you, and a mile is a goodish 
bit to get over when you ’re not strong.” 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 229 


“ Why, of course/’ said Clover, delighted. 
“We shall count on it, and Lion has prom- 
ised to stay with us all the time you are 
away.” 

“I do think that girl has experienced a 
change of heart,” remarked Elsie, as they 
turned to go in-doors. “She seems really 
fond of you, and almost fond of me. It is 
no wonder, I am sure, so far as you are 
concerned, after all you have done for her. 
I never supposed she could look so pretty 
or come so near being agreeable as she does 
now. Evidently mountain-fever is what the 
English emigrant of the higher classes needs 
to thaw him out and attune him to Amer- 
ican ways. It’s a pity they can’t all be 
inoculated with it on landing. 

“ Now, Clovy, — my dear, sweet old Clo- 
vy, — what fun it is to have you at home 
again ! ” she went on, giving her sister a 
rapturous embrace. “ I would n’t mention it 
so long as you had to be away, but I have 
missed you horribly. ‘ There ’s no luck about 
the house ’ when you are not in it. We have 


230 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


all been out of sorts, — Geoff quite down in 
the mouth, little Geoff not at all contented 
with me as a mother ; even Euphane has 
worn a long face and exhibited a tendency 
to revert to the Isle of Man, which she never 
showed so long as you were to the fore. As 
for me, I have felt like a person with one 
lung, or half a head, — all broken up, and 
unlike myself. Oh, dear ! how good it is to 
get you back, and be able to consult you and 
look at you ! Come upstairs at once, and 
unpack your things, and we will play that 
you have never been away, and that the 
last month is nothing but a disagreeable 
dream from which we have waked up.” 

“It is delightful to get back,” admitted 
Clover; “still the month has had its nice 
side, too. Imogen is so sweet and grateful 
and demonstrative that it would astonish 
you. She is like a different girl. I really 
think she has grown to love me.” 

“ I should say that nothing was more prob- 
able. But don’t let’s talk of Imogen now. 
I want you all to myself.” 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 


231 


The day had an ending as happy as un- 
expected. This was the letter that Lionel 
Young brought back that evening from John- 
nie at Burnet : — 

Dearest Sisters, — What do you think has 
happened ? Something as enchanting as it is 
surprising ! I wrote you about Dorry’s having 
the grippe; but I would not tell you what a 
serious affair it was, because you were all so 
anxious and occupied about Miss Young that I 
did not like to add to your worries more than I 
could help. He was pretty ill for nearly a week ; 
and though on the mend now, he is much weak- 
ened and run down, and papa, I can see, con- 
siders him still in a poor way. There is no 
chance of his being able to go back to the works 
for a couple of months yet, and we were casting 
about as to the best way of giving him a change 
of air, when, last night, came a note from Mr. 
Dayton to say that he has to take a business 
run to Salt Lake, with a couple of his directors, 
and there are two places in car 47 at our ser- 
vice if any of us still care to make the trip to 
Colorado, late as it is. We had to answer at 
once, and we took only ten minutes to make up 
our minds. Dorry and I are to start for Chicago 


232 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


to-morrow, and will be with you on Thursday if 
all goes well, — and for a good long visit, as the 
company have given Dorry a two months’ vaca- 
tion. We shall come back like common folks at 
our own charges, which is an unusual extrav- 
agance for the Carr family ; but papa says sick- 
ness is a valid reason for spending money, while 
mere pleasure is n’t. He thinks the journey will 
be the very thing for Dorry. It has all come so 
suddenly that I am quite bewildered in my mind. 
I don’t at all like going away and leaving papa 
alone ; but he is quite decided about it, and there 
is just the bare chance that Katy may run out 
for a week or two, so I am going to put my scru- 
ples in my pocket, and take the good the gods 
provide, prepared to be very happy. How per- 
fectly charming it will be to see you all ! Some- 
how I never pined for you and the valley so much 
as I have of late. It was really an awful blow 
when the August plan came to nothing, but Fate 
is making amends. Thursday ! only think of it ! 
You will just have time to put towels in our 
rooms and fill the pitchers before we are there. I 
speak for the west corner one in the guest cabin, 
which I had last year. Our dear love to you all. 

Your affectionate Johnnie. 

P. S. Please tell Mr. Young how happy we are 
that his sister is recovering. 


UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 233 

“ This is too delicious ! ” said Elsie, when 
she had finished reading this letter. “ Dorry, 
who never has been here, and John, and for 
October, when we so rarely have anybody ! 
I think it is a sort of ‘ reward of merit ’ for 
you, Clover, for taking such good care of 
Imogen Young.” 

“ It ’s a most delightful one if it is. I half 
wish now that we had n’t asked Lion to stay 
while his sister is gone. He ’s a dear good 
fellow, but it would be nicer to have the 
others quite to ourselves, don’t you think 
so?” 

“ Clover dear,” said Elsie, looking very 
wise and significant, “did it never occur to 
you that there might be a little something 
like a sentiment or tenderness between John 
and Lionel? Are you sure that she would 
be so thoroughly pleased if we sent him off 
and kept her to ourselves ? ” 

“ Certainly not. I never thought of such 
a thing.” 

“ You never do think of such things. I 
am much sharper about them than you are, 


234 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


and I have observed a tendency on the 
part of Miss John to send messages to that 
young man in her letters, and always in post- 
scripts. Mark that, postscripts! There is 
something very suspicious in postscripts, and 
he invariably blushes immensely when I de- 
liver them.” 

“ You are a great deal too sharp,” responded 
Clover, laughing. “You see through mill- 
stones that don’t exist. It would be very 
nice if it were so, but it is n’t. I don’t be- 
lieve a word about your postscripts and 
blushes; you’ve imagined it all.” 

“ Some people are born stupid in these di- 
rections,” retorted Elsie. “I’ll bet you Phil- 
lida’s back-hair against the first tooth that 
Geoffy loses that I am right ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 

)NEL certainly did redden when 
Johnnie’s message was delivered to 
him. The quick-eyed Elsie noted 
it and darted a look at Clover, but Clover 
only shook her head slightly in return. Each 
sister adhered to her own opinion. 

They were very desirous that the High 
Valley should make a favorable impression 
on Dorry, for it was his first visit to them. 
The others had all been there except Katy, and 
she had seen Cheyenne and St. Helen’s, but to 
Dorry everything west of the Mississippi was 
absolutely new. He was a very busy person 
in these days, and quite the success of the 
Carr family in a moneyed point of view. The 
turn for mechanics which he exhibited in 
boyhood had continued, and determined his 



236 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


career. Electrical science had attracted his 
attention in its earlier, half-developed stages ; 
he had made a careful study of it, and quali- 
fied himself for the important position which 
he held under the company, which was fast 
revolutionizing the lighting and street-car 
system of Burnet, now growing to be a large 
manufacturing centre. This was doing well 
for a young fellow not quite twenty-five, and 
his family were very proud of him. He was too 
valuable to his employers to be easily spared, 
and except for the enforced leisure of the 
grippe it might probably have been years be- 
fore he felt free to make his sisters in Colo- 
rado a visit, in which case nothing would have 
happened that did happen. 

“ Dear, steady old Sobersides ! ” said Elsie, 
as she spread a fresh cover over the shelf 
which did duty for a bureau in the Bachelors’ 
Room; “ I wonder what he will think of it 
all. I ’in afraid he will be scandalized at our 
scrambling ways, and our having no regular 
church, and consider us a set of half-heathen 
Bohemians.” 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 237 

“ I don’t believe it. Dorry has too much good 
sense, and has seen too much of the world 
among business men to be easily shocked. 
And our little Sunday service is very nice, I 
think ; Geoff reads so reverently, — and for 
sermons, we have our pick of the best there 
are.” 

“ I know, and I like them dearly myself ; 
but I seem to feel that Dorry will miss the 
pulpit and sitting in a regular pew. He ’s 
rather that sort of person, don’t you think ? ” 

“ You are too much inclined to laugh at 
Dorry,” said Clover, reprovingly, “ and he 
doesn’t deserve it of you. He’s a thor- 
oughly good, sensible fellow, and has excel- 
lent abilities, papa says, — not brilliant, but 
very sound. I don’t like to have you speak 
so of him.” 

“ Why, Clovy — my little Clovy, I almost 
believe you are scolding me ! Let me look 
at you, — yes, there ’s quite a frown on your 
forehead, and your mouth has the firm look 
of grandpapa Carr’s daguerrotype. I’ll be 
good, — really I will. Don’t fire again, — • 


238 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


I ’ve 6 come down 9 like the coon in the an- 
ecdote. Dorry ’s a dear, and you are an- 
other, and I ’m ever so glad he ’s coming ; 
but really, it ’s not in human nature not to 
laugh at the one solemn person in a frivo- 
lous family like ours, now is it ? ” 

“ See that you behave yourself, then, and 
I ’ll not scold you any more,” replied Clover, 
magisterially, and ignoring the last question. 
She marred the effect of her lecture by kiss- 
ing Elsie as she spoke ; but it was hard to 
resist the temptation, Elsie was so droll and 
coaxing, and so very pretty. 

They expected to find Dorry still something 
of an invalid, and made preparations accord- 
ingly; but there was no sign of debility in 
his jump from the carriage or his run up the 
steps to greet them. He was a little thinner 
than usual, but otherwise seemed quite him- 
self. 

“ It ’s the air,” explained Johnnie, “ this 
blessed Western air! He was forlorn when 
we left Burnet, and so tired when we got to 
Chicago; but after that he improved with 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 239 

every mile, and when we reached Denver 
this morning he seemed fresher than when 
we started. I do think Colorado air the true 
elixir of life.” 

“ It is quite true, what she says. I feel like 
a different man already,” added Dorry. “ Clo- 
ver, you look a little pulled down yourself 
Was it nursing Miss What ’s-her-name ? ” 

“ I ’m all right. Another day or two will quite 
rest me. I came home only day before yes- 
terday, you see. How delicious it is to have 
you both here ! Dorry dear, you must have 
some beef-tea directly, — Euphane has a little 
basin of it ready, — and dinner will be in about 
an hour.” 

“ Beef-tea ! What for ? I don’t need any- 
thing of the sort, I assure you. Roast mut- 
ton, which I seem to smell in the distance, is 
much more in my line. I want to look about 
and see your house. What do you call that 
snow-peak over there? This is a beautiful 
place of yours, I declare.” 

“ Papa would open his eyes if he could see 
him,” remarked Johnnie, confidentially, when 


240 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


she got her sisters to herself a little later. 
“ It ’s like a miracle the way he has come up. 
He was so dragged and miserable and so very 
cross only three days ago. Now, you dear 
things, let me look at you both. Are you 
quite well ? How are the brothers-in-law ? 
Where are the babies, and what have you 
done with Miss Young ? ” 

“The brothers-in-law are all right. They 
will be back presently. There is a round-up 
to-day, which was the reason we sent Isadore 
in with the carriage; no one else could be 
spared. The babies are having their supper, 
— you will see them anon, — and Imogen has 
gone for a fortnight to St. Helen's.” 

“Oh!” Johnnie turned aside and began 
to take down her hair. “ Mr. Young is with 
her, I suppose.” 

“No, indeed, he is here, and staying with 
us. You will see him at dinner.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Johnnie again. There was a 
difference between these two “ ohs,” which 
Elsie’s quick ear detected. 

“ Please unlock that valise,” went on Johnnie, 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 241 

“ and take out the dress on top. This I have 
on is too dreadfully dusty to be endured.” 

Joanna Carr had grown up very pretty ; 
many people considered her the handsomest 
of the four sisters. Taller than any of them 
except Katy, and of quite a different build, 
large, vigorous, and finely formed, she had 
a very white skin, hair of pale bronze-brown, 
and beautiful velvety dark eyes with thick 
curling lashes. She had a turn for dress too, 
and all colors suited her. The woollen gown 
of cream-yellow which she now put on seemed 
exactly what was needed to throw up the tints 
of her hair and complexion; but she would 
look equally well on the morrow in blue. 
With quick accustomed fingers she whisked 
her pretty locks into a series of artlessly art- 
ful loops, with little blowing rings about the 
forehead, and stuck a bow in here and a pin 
there, talking all the time, and finally caught 
little Phillida up in her strong young arms, 
and ran downstairs just in time to greet the 
boys as they dismounted at the door, and 
shake hands demurely with Lionel Young, who 
16 


242 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


came with them. All three had raced down 
from the very top of the Upper Valley at 
breakneck speed, to be in time to welcome 
the travellers. 

There is always one moment, big with 
fate, when processes begin to take place; 
when the first fine needle of crystallization 
forms in the transparent fluid ; when the im- 
pulse of the jellying principle begins to work 
on the fruit-juice, and the frost principle to 
inform the water atoms. These fateful mo- 
ments are not always perceptible to our dull 
apprehensions, but none the less do they 
exist; and they are apt to take us by sur- 
prise, because we have not detected the fine 
gradual chain of preparation which has made 
ready for them. 

I think one of these fateful moments oc- 
curred that evening, as Lionel Young held 
Joanna Carr’s hand, and his straight-forward 
English eyes poured an ardent beam of wel- 
come into hers. They had seen a good deal 
of each other two years before, but neither 
was prepared to be quite so glad to meet 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 243 

again. They did not pause to analyze or 
classify their feelings, — people rarely do when 
they really feel; but from that night their 
attitude toward each other was changed, and 
the change became more apparent with every 
day that followed. 

As these days went on, bright, golden days, 
cloudless, and full of the zest and snap of the 
nearing cold, Dorry grew stronger and 
stronger. So well did he feel that after the first 
week or so he began to allude to himself as 
quite recovered, and to show an ominous desire 
to get back to his work ; but this suggestion 
was promptly scouted by everybody, espe- 
cially by John, who said she had come for six 
weeks at least, and six weeks at least she 
should stay, — and as much longer as she 
could ; and that Dorry as her escort must stay 
too, no matter how well he might feel. 

“ Besides/’ she argued, “ there ’s all your 
life before you in which to dig away at dyna- 
mos and things, and you may never be in 
Colorado again. You wouldn’t have the 
heart to disappoint Clover and Elsie and hurry 


244 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


back, when there ’s no real necessity. They 
are so pleased to have a visit from you.” 

u Oh, I ’ll stay ! I ’ll certainly stay,” said 
Dorry. “ You shall have your visit out, John ; 
only, when a fellow feels as perfectly well as 
I do, it seems ridiculous for him to be sitting 
round with his hands folded, taking a moun- 
tain cure which he does n’t need.” 

Autumn is the busiest season for cattlemen 
everywhere, which made it the more singular 
that Lionel Young should manage to find so 
much time for sitting and riding with Johnnie, 
or taking her to walk up the steepest and 
loneliest canyons. They were together in 
one way or another half the day at least ; and 
during the other half Johnnie’s face wore 
always a pre-occupied look, and was dream- 
ily happy and silent. Even Clover began to 
perceive that something unusual was in the 
air, something that seemed a great deal too 
good to be true. She and Elsie held confer- 
ences in private, during which they hugged 
each other, and whispered that “If! when- 
ever ! — if ever ! — Papa would surely come 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 245 

out and live in the Valley. He never could 
resist three of his girls all at once.’’ But they 
resolved not to say one word to Johnnie, 
or even look as if they suspected anything, lest 
it should have a discouraging effect. 

“ It never does to poke your finger into a 
bird’s nest,” observed Elsie, with a sapient 
shake of the head. “ The eggs always addle 
if you do, or the young birds refuse to hatch 
out ; and of course in the case of turtle-doves 
it would be all the more so. ‘ Lay low, Bre’r 
Fox/ and wait for what happens. It all 
promises delightfully, only I don’t see exactly, 
supposing this ever comes to anything, how 
Imogen Young is to be disposed of.” 

“ We won’t cross that bridge till we come 
to it,” said Clover ; but all the same she did 
cross it in her thoughts many times. It is 
not in human nature to keep off these mental 
bridges. 

At the end of the fortnight Imogen returned 
in very good looks and spirits; and further 
beautified by a pretty autumn dress of dark 
blue, which Mrs. Hope had persuaded her to 


246 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


order, and over the making of which she 
herself had personally presided. It fitted 
well, and set off to admiration the delicate 
pink and white of Imogen’s skin, while the 
new warmth of affection which had come into 
her manner was equally becoming. 

“Why didn’t you say what a pretty girl 
Miss Young was ? ” demanded Dorry the very 
first evening. 

“ I don’t know, I ’m sure. She looks better 
than she did before she was ill, and she’s 
very nice and all that, but we never thought 
of her being exactly pretty.” 

“ I can’t think why ; she is certainly much 
better-looking than that Miss Chase who was 
here the other day. I should call her de- 
cidedly handsome; and she seems easy to 
get on with too.” 

“ Is n’t it odd ? ” remarked Elsie, as she re- 
tailed this conversation to Clover. “ Imogen 
never seemed to me so very easy to get on 
with, and Dorry never before seemed to find 
it particularly easy to get on with any girl. 
I suppose they happen to suit, but it is very 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 247 

queer that they should. People are always 
surprising you in that way.” 

What with John’s recently developed ten- 
dency to disappear into canyons with Lionel 
Young, with the boys necessarily so occupied, 
and their own many little tasks and home 
duties, there had been moments during the 
fortnight when Clover and Elsie had found 
Dorry rather heavy on their hands. He was 
not much of a reader except in a professional 
way, and still less of a horseman ; so the two 
principal amusements of the Valley counted 
for little with him, and they feared he would 
feel dull, or fancy himself neglected. With 
the return of Imogen these apprehensions 
were laid at rest. Dorry, if left alone, 
promptly took the trail in the direction of 
the “ Hutlet,” returning hours afterward look- 
ing beaming and contented, to casually men- 
tion by way of explanation that he had been 
reading aloud to Miss Young, or that he and 
Miss Young had been taking a walk. 

"It’s remarkably convenient,” Elsie re- 
marked one evening; “but it’s just as 


248 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


remarkably queer. What can they find to 
say to each other do you suppose ? ” 

If Dorry had not been Dorry, besides being 
her brother, she would probably have arrived 
at a conclusion about the matter much sooner 
than she did. Quick people are too apt to 
imagine that slow people have nothing to say, 
or do not know how to say it when they 
have ; while all the time, for slow and quick 
alike, there is the old, old story for each to 
tell in his own way, which makes the most 
halting lips momentarily eloquent, and which 
both to speaker and listener seems forever new, 
fresh, wonderful, and inexhaustibly interesting. 

In a retired place like the High Valley 
intimacies flourish with wonderful facility and 
quickness. A month in such a place counts 
for more than half a year amid the confusions 
and interruptions of the city. Dorry had been 
struck by Imogen that first evening. He had 
never got on very well with girls, or known 
much about them; there was a delightful 
novelty in his present sensations. There was 
not a word as to the need of getting back to 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 249 

business after she dawned on his horizon. 
Quite the contrary. Two weeks, three, four 
went by ; the original limit set for the visit 
was passed, the end of his holiday drew 
near, and still he stayed on contentedly, and 
every day devoted himself more and more 
to Imogen Young. 

She, on her part, was puzzled and flut- 
tered, but not unhappy She was quite 
alive to Dorry’s merits; he was her first 
admirer, and it was a new and agreeable 
feature of life to have one, “like other 
girls,” as she told herself. Lionel was too 
much absorbed in his own affairs to notice 
or interfere ; so the time went on, and the 
double entanglement wound itself naturally 
and happily to its inevitable conclusion. 

It was in the beautiful little ravine to 
the east, which Clover had named “ Pensta- 
men Canyon,” from the quantity of those 
flowers which grew there, that Dorry made 
his final declaration. There were no pen- 
stamens in the valley now, no yuccas or 
columbines, only a few belated autumn cro- 


250 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


cuses and the scarlet berried mats of kinni- 
kinick remained ; but the day was as golden- 
bright as though it were still September. 

“We have known each other only four 
weeks/’ said Dorry, going straight to the 
point in his usual direct fashion ; “ and if 
I were going to stay on I should think I 
had no right, perhaps, to speak so soon, — 
for your sake, mind, not for my own ; I 
could not be surer about my feelings for 
you if we had been acquainted for years. 
But I have to go away before long, back 
to my home and my work, and I really 
cannot go without speaking. I must know 
if there is any chance for me.” 

“I like you very much,” said Imogen, 
demurely. 

“ Do you ? Then perhaps one day you 
might get to like me better still. I ’d do 
all that a man could to make you happy 
if you would, and I think you’d like Bur- 
net to live in. It’s a big place, you know, 
with all the modern improvements, — not 
like this, which, pretty as it is, would be 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 251 

rather lonely in the winters, I should think. 
There are lots of nice people in Burnet, and 
there’s Johnnie, whom you already know, 
and my father, — you ’d be sure to like my 
father.” 

“ Oh, don’t go on in this way, as if it were 
only for the advantages of the change that 
I should consent. It would be for quite dif- 
ferent reasons, if I did.” Then, after a short 
pause, she added, “ I wonder what they will 
say at Bideford.” 

It was an indirect yes, but Dorry under- 
stood that it was yes. 

“ Then you ’ll think of it ? You don’t 
refuse me ? Imogen, you make me very 
happy.” 

Dorry did look happy ; and as bliss is 
beautifying, he looked handsome as well. 
His strong, well-knit figure showed to ad- 
vantage in the rough climbing-suit which 
he wore ; his eyes sparkled and beamed as 
he looked at Imogen. 

“ May I talk with Lionel about it ? ” he 
asked, persuasively. “ He represents your 
father over here, you know.” 


252 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“Yes, I suppose so.” She blushed a lit- 
tle, but looked frankly up at Dorry. “ Poor 
Lion ! it ’s hard lines for him, and I feel 
guilty at the idea of deserting him so soon ; 
but I know your sisters will be good to 
him, and I can’t help being glad that you 
care for me. Only there ’s one thing I must 
say to you, Theodore [no one since he was 
baptized had ever called Dorry “ Theodore ” 
till now !], for I don’t want you to fancy me 
nicer than I really am. I was horribly stiff 
and prejudiced when I first came out. I 
thought everything American was inferior 
and mistaken, and all the English ways were 
best; and I was nasty, — yes, really very 
nasty to your sisters, especially dear Clover. 
I have learned her worth now, and I love 
her and America, and I shall love it all the 
better for your sake ; but all the same, I 
shall probably disappoint you sometimes, and 
be stiff and impracticable and provoking, 
and you will need to have patience with me : 
it ’s the price you must pay if you marry an 
English wife, — this particular English wife, 
at least.” 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 2 53 

“ It ’s a price that I ’ll gladly pay/’ cried 
Dorry, holding her hand tight. “Not that 
I believe a word you say ; but you are the 
dearest, truest, honestest girl in the world, 
and I love you all the better for being so 
modest about yourself. For me, I’m just a 
plain, sober sort of fellow. I never was 
bright like the others, and there ’s nothing 
in the least ‘ subtle ’ or hard to understand 
about me ; but I don’t believe I shall make 
the worse husband for that. It’s only in 
French novels that dark, inscrutable charac- 
ters are good for daily use.” 

“ Indeed, I don’t want an inscrutable hus« 
band. I like you much better as you are.” 
Then, after a happy pause, “Isabel Tem- 
plestowe — she ’s Geoff’s sister, you know, 
and my most intimate friend at home — 
predicted that I should marry over here, but 
I never supposed I should. It did n’t seem 
likely that any one would want me, for I ’m 
not pretty or interesting, like your sisters, 
you know.” 

“ Oh, I say ! ” cried Dorry, “ have n’t I 


254 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


been telling you that you interest me more 
than any one in the world ever did before ? 
I never saw a girl whom I considered could 
hold a candle to you, — certainly not one 
of my own sisters. You don’t think your 
people at home will make any objections, 
do you?” 

“ No, indeed ; they ’ll be very pleased to 
have me settled, I should think. There are 
a good many of us at home, you know.” 

Meanwhile, a little farther up the same 
canyon, but screened from observation by a 
projecting shoulder of rock, another equally 
satisfactory conversation was going on be- 
tween another pair of lovers. Johnnie and 
Lionel had strolled up there about an hour 
before Dorry and Imogen arrived. They had 
no idea that any one else was in the ravine. 

“I think I knew two years ago that I 
cared more for you than any one else,” 
Lionel was saying. 

“ Did you ? Perhaps the faintest suspi- 
cion of such a thing occurred to me too.” 

“ I used to keep thinking about you at 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 255 

odd minutes all day, when I was working 
over the cattle and everything, and I always 
thought steadily about you at night when 
I was falling asleep.” 

“Very strange, certainly.” 

“ And the moment you came and I saw 
you again, it flashed upon me what it meant ; 
and I perceived that I had been desperately 
in love with you all along without know- 
ing it.” 

“Still stranger.” 

“ Don’t tease me, darling Johnnie, — no, 
Joan ; I like that better than Johnnie. It 
makes me think of Joan d’Arc. I shall call 
you that, may I ? ” 

“ How can I help it ? You have a big 
will of your own, as I always knew. Only 
don’t connect me with the ark unless you 
spell it, and don’t call me Jonah.” 

“ Never ! He was the prophet of evil, 
and you are the good genius of my life.” 

“ I ’m not sure whether I am or not. It 
plunges you into all sorts of embarrassments 
to think of marrying me. Neither of us 


256 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


has any money. You’ll have to work hard 
for years before you can afford a wife, — and 
then there ’s your sister to be considered.” 

“ I know. Poor Moggy ! But she came 
out for my sake. She will probably be 
only too glad to get home again whenever 
— other arrangements are possible. Will 
you wait a while for me, my sweet ? ” 

“I don’t mind if I do.” 

“How long will you wait?” 

“ Shall we say ten years ? ” 

“ Ten years ! By Jove, no ! We ’ll say 
no such thing ! But eighteen months, — 
we ’ll fix it at eighteen months, or two 
years at farthest. I can surely fetch it in 
two years.” 

“ Very well, then ; I ’ll wait two years 
with pleasure.” 

“I don’t ask you to wait with pleasure 1 
That ’s carrying it a little too far ! ” 

“ I don’t seem able to please you, what- 
ever I say,” remarked Johnnie, pretending 
to pout. 

“ Please me, darling Joan ! You please 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 257 

me down to the ground, and you always 
did ! But if you ’ll wait two years, — not 
with pleasure, but with patience and resig- 
nation, — I ’ll buckle to with a will and 
earn my happiness. Your father won’t be 
averse, will he ? ” 

“ Poor papa ! Yes, he is very averse to 
having his girls marry, but he ’s somewhat 
hardened to it. I ’m the last of the four, 
you know, and I think he would give his 
blessing to you rather than any one else, 
because you would bring me out here to 
live near the others. Perhaps he will come 
too. It is the dream of Clover’s and Elsie’s 
lives that he should.” 

“ That would be quite perfect for us all.” 

“ You say that to please me, I know, but 
you will say it with all your heart if ever it 
happens, for my father is the sweetest man 
in the world, and the wisest and most rea- 
sonable. You will love him dearly. He 
has been father and mother and all to us 
children. And there ’s my sister Katy, — 
you will love her too.” 


258 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I have seen her once, you remember.’’ 

“Yes; but you can’t find Katy out at 
once, — there is too much of her. Oh, I ’ve 
ever so many nice relations to give you. 
There’s Ned Worthington ; he’s a dear, — 
and Cousin Helen. Did I ever tell you 
about her ? She ’s a terrible invalid, you 
know, almost always confined to her bed 
or sofa, and yet she has been one of the great 
influences of our lives, — a sort of guardian 
angel, always helping and brightening and 
cheering us all, and starting us in right direc- 
tions. Oh, you must know her. I can’t think 
how you ever will, for of course she can 
never come to Colorado ; but somehow it 
shall be managed. Now tell me about your 
people. How many are there of you ? ” 

“ Eleven, and I scarcely remember my old- 
est brother, he went away from home so long 
ago. Jim was my chum, — he ’s no end of 
a good fellow. He ’s in New Zealand now. 
And Beatrice — that ’s the next girl to Imo- 
gen — is awfully nice too, and there are one 
or two jolly ones among the smaller kids. Oh, 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 259 

you ’ll like them all, especially my mother. 
We ’ll go over some day and make them a 
visit.” 

“ That will be nice ; but we shall have to 
wait till we grow rich before we can take 
such a long journey. Lion, do you think 
by-and-by we could manage to build an- 
other house, or move your cabin farther 
down the Valley ? I want to live nearer 
Clover and Elsie. You ’ll have to be away 
a good deal, of course, as the other boys are, 
and a mile is ‘ a goodish bit,’ as Imogen 
would say. It would make all the difference 
in the world if I had the sisters close at hand 
to ‘ put my lips to when so dispoged.’ ” 

“ Why, of course we will. Geoff built the 
Hutlet, you know ; I did n’t put any money 
into it. I chose the position because — well, 
the view was good, and I did n’t know how 
Moggy would hit it off with the rest, you un- 
derstand. I thought she might do better a 
little farther away ; but with you it ’s quite dif- 
ferent of course. I dare say the Hutlet could 
be moved; I’ll talk to Geoff about it.” 


260 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ I don’t care how simple it is, so long as 
it is near the others/’ went on Johnnie. “ It ’s 
easy enough to make a simple house pretty 
and nice. I am so glad that your house is 
in this valley, Lion.” 

A little pause ensued. 

“What was that?” asked Johnnie, sud- 
denly. 

“ What?” 

“ That sound ? It seemed to come from 
down the canyon. Such a very odd echo, if 
it was an echo ! ” 

“ What kind of a sound ? I heard nothing.” 

“ Voices, I should say, if it were not quite 
impossible that it could be voices, — very low 
and hushed, as if a ghost were confabulating 
with another ghost about a quarter of a mile 
away.” 

“ Oh, that must be just a fancy,” protested 
Lionel. “ There is n’t a living soul within a 
mile of us.” 

And at the same moment Dorry, a couple 
of hundred feet distant, was remarking to 
Imogen : — 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 261 

“ These canyons do have the most extraor- 
dinary echoes. There ’s the strangest cooing 
and sibilating going on above.’’ 

“Wood pigeons, most probably; there are 
heaps of them hereabout.” 

Presently the pair from above, slowly climb- 
ing down the ravine hand-in-hand, came upon 
the pair below, just rising from their seat to 
go home. There was a mutual consternation 
in the four countenances comical to behold. 

“ You here ! ” cried Imogen. 

“ And you here ! ” retorted Lionel. “ Why, 
we never suspected it. What brought you 
up ? — and Carr, too, I declare ! ” 

“ Why — oh — it ’s a pretty place,” stam- 
mered Imogen. “ Theodore — Mr. Carr, I 
mean — Now, Lionel, what are you laugh- 
ing at?” 

“ Nothing,” said her brother, composing his 
features as best he could ; “ only it ’s such a 
very odd coincidence, you know.” 

“Very odd indeed,” remarked Dorry, 
gravely. The four looked at one another 
solemnly and questioningly, and then — it was 
impossible to help it — all four laughed. 


262 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ By Jove ! ” cried Lionel, between his par- 
oxysms, “ I do believe we have all come up 
here on the same errand ! ” 

“ I dare say we have/’ remarked Dorry ; 
“ there were some extremely queer echoes 
that came down to us from above.” 

“ Not a bit queerer, I assure you, than some 
which floated up to us from below,” retorted 
Johnnie, recovering her powers of speech. 

“ffe thought it was doves.” 

“ And we were sure it was ghosts, — affec- 
tionate ghosts, you know, on excellent terms 
with each other.” 

“Young, I want a word with you,” said 
Dorry, drawing Lionel aside. 

“ And I want a word with you.” 

“ And I want several words with you,” cried 
Johnnie, brightly, putting her arm through 
Imogen’s. She looked searchingly at her. 

“ I ’m going to be your sister,” she said ; 
“ I ’ve promised Lionel. Are you going to 
be mine?” 

“ Yes, — I ’ve promised Theodore — ” 

“ Theodore ! ” cried Johnnie, with a world 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 263 

of admiration in her voice. “ Oh, you mean 
Dorry. We never call him that, you know.” 

“ Yes, I know, but I prefer Theodore. 
Dorry seems a childish sort of name for a 
grown man. Do you mean to say that you 
are coming out to the Valley to live?” 

“Yes, by-and-by, and you will come to 
Burnet; we shall just change places. Isn’t it 
nice and queer ? ” 

“It is a sort of double-barrelled Interna- 
tional Alliance,” declared Lionel. “ Now let 
us go down and astonish the others.” 

The others were astonished indeed. They 
were prepared for Johnnie’s confession, but 
had so little thought of Dorry’s that for some 
time he and Imogen stood by unheeded, wait- 
ing their turn at explanation. 

“ Why, Dorry,” cried Elsie at last, “ why 
are you standing on one side like that with 
Miss Young ? You don’t look as surprised as 
you ought. Did you hear the news before 
we did? Imogen dear, — it isn’t such good 
news for you as for us.” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed it is. I am quite as happy 
in it as you can be.” 


264 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Ladies and gentlemen/’ cried Lionel, who 
was in topping spirits and could not be re- 
strained, “this shrinking pair also have a 
tale to tell. It is a case of ‘ change partners 
all round and down the middle.’ Let me 
introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Theo — ” 

“ Lion, you wretched boy, stop ! ” inter- 
rupted Johnnie. “ That ’s not at all the 
right way to do it. Let me introduce them. 
Friends and countrymen, allow the echoes 
of the Upper East Canyon to present to 
your favorable consideration the echoes of 
the Lower East Canyon. We ’ve all been 
sitting up there, ‘ unbeknownst,’ within a 
few feet of each other, and none of us could 
account for the mysterious noises that we 
heard, till we all started to come home, and 
met each other on the way down.” 

“ What kind of noises ? ” demanded Elsie, 
in a suffocated voice. 

“ Oh, cooings and gurglings and soft mur- 
murs of conversation and whisperings. It 
was very unaccountable indeed, very ! 

“Dorry,” said Elsie, next day when she 


THE ECHOES IN THE EAST CANYON. 265 

chanced to be alone with him, a Would you 
mind if I asked you rather an impertinent 
question ? You need n’t answer if you don’t 
want to; but what was it that first put it 
into your head to fall in love with Imogen 
Young? I’m very glad that you did, you 
understand. She will make you a capital 
wife, and I ’m going to be very fond of her, 
— but still, I should just like to know.” 

“ I don’t know that I could tell you if I 
tried,” replied her brother. “ How can a 
man explain that sort of thing ? I fell in 
love because I was destined to fall in love, I 
suppose. I liked her at the start, and thought 
her pretty, and all that ; and she seemed kind 
of lonely and left out among you all. And 
then she ’s a quiet sort of girl, you know, not 
so ready at talk as most, or so quick to pick 
at a fellow or trip him up. I ’ve always been 
the slow one in our family, you see, and by 
way of a change it ’s rather refreshing to be 
with a woman who isn’t so much brighter 
than I am. The rest of you jump at an idea 
and off it again while I ’m gathering my wits 


266 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


together to see that there is an idea. Imogen 
does n’t do that, and it rather suits me that 
she should n’t. You ’re all delightful, and 
I ’m very fond of you, I ’m sure ; but for 
a wife I think I like some one more like 
myself.” 

“ Of all the droll explanations that I ever 
heard, that is quite the drollest,” said Elsie 
to her husband afterward. “ The idea of a 
man’s falling in love with a woman because 
she ’s duller than his own sisters ! Nobody 
but Dorry would ever have thought of it.” 


CHAPTER X. 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


[HE next few days in the High Valley 
were too full of excitement and dis- 
cussions to be quite comfortable for 
anybody. Imogen was seized with compunc- 
tions at leaving Lionel without a housekeeper, 
and proposed to Dorry that their wedding 
should be deferred till the others were ready 
to be married also, — a suggestion to which 
Dorry would not listen for a moment. There 
were long business- talks between the ranch 
partners as to hows and whens, letters to be 
written, and innumerable confabulations be- 
tween the three sisters, in which Imogen took 
part, for she counted as a fourth sister now. 
Clover and Elsie listened and planned and 
advised, and found their chief difficulty to 
consist in hiding and keeping in the back- 



268 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


ground their unfeigned and flattering joy 
over the whole arrangement. It made mat- 
ters so delightfully easy all round to have 
Imogen engaged to Dorry, and it was so 
much to their own individual advantage to 
exchange her for Johnnie that they really 
dared not express their delight too openly. 

The great question with all was how papa 
would take the announcement, and whether 
he could be induced to carry out his half 
promise of leaving Burnet and coming to live 
with them in the Valley. They waited anx- 
iously for his reply to the letters. It came 
by telegraph two days before they had dared 
to hope for it, and was as follows : — 

God bless you all four ! Genesis xliii. 14. 

P. Carr. 

This Biblical addition nearly broke John’s 
heart. Her sisters had to comfort her 
with all manner of hopeful auguries and 
promises. 

“ He ’ll be glad enough over it in time,” 
they told her. “ Think what it would have 





It came by telegraph two days before they had dared to 

hope for it. Page 268 



A DOUBLE KNOT. 


269 


been if you had been going to marry a Cali- 
fornian, or a man with an orange plantation 
in Florida. He ’ll see that it ’s all for the best 
as soon as he gets out here, and he must 
come. Johnnie, you must never let him off. 
Don’t take ‘ no ’ for an answer. It is so im- 
portant to us all that he should consent.” 

They primed her with persuasive messages 
and arguments, and both Clover and Elsie 
wrote him a long letter on the subject. On 
the very eve of the departure came a second 
telegram. Telegrams were not every-day 
things in the High Valley, the nearest “ wire ” 
being at the Ute Hotel five miles away; and 
the arrival of the messenger on horseback 
created a momentary panic. 

This telegram was also from Dr. Carr. It 
was addressed to Johnnie, — 

Following just received : “ Miss Inches died to-day 
of pneumonia.” No particulars. 

P. Carr. 

It was a great shock to poor Johnnie. She 
and “ Mamma Marian,” as she still called her 
god-mother, had been warm friends always ; 


270 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


they corresponded regularly; Johnnie had 
made her several long visits at Inches Mills, 
and she had written to her among the first 
with the news of her engagement. 

“ She never got it. She never will know 
about Lionel,” she kept repeating mournfully. 
“ And now I can never tell her about any of 
my plans, and she would have been so pleased 
and interested. She always cared so much 
for what I cared about, and I hoped she would 
come out here for a long visit some day, and 
see you all. Oh dear, oh dear ! what a sad 
ending to our happy time ! ” 

“ Not an ending, only an interruption,” put 
in the comforting Clover. But John for a 
time could not be consoled, and the party 
broke up under a cloud, literal as well as 
metaphorical, for the first snow-storm was 
drifting over the plain as they drove down 
the pass, the melting flakes instantly drunk 
up by the sand ; all the soft blue of dis- 
tance had vanished, and a gray mist wrapped 
the mountain tops. The High Valley was in 
temporary eclipse, its brightness and sparkle 
put by for the moment. 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


271 


But nothing could long eclipse the sunshine 
of such youthful hearts and hopes. Before 
long John’s letters grew cheerful again, and 
presently she wrote to announce a wonderful 
piece of news. 

“ Something very strange has happened,” 
she began. “ I am an heiress ! It is just like 
the girls in books! Yesterday came a letter 
from a firm of lawyers in Boston with a long 
document enclosed. It was an extract from 
Mamma Marian’s will ; and only think, — she 
has left me a legacy of thirty thousand dol- 
lars ! Dear thing ! and she never knew about 
my engagement either, or how wonderfully 
it was going to help in our plans. She just 
did it because she loved me. ‘To Joanna 
Inches Carr, my namesake and child by affec- 
tion/ the will says ; and I think it pleases me 
as much as having the money. That fright- 
ens me a little, it seems so much. At first I 
did not like to take it, and felt as if I might 
be robbing some one else ; but papa says that 
she had no very near relations, and that I need 
not hesitate. Oh, my darling Clover, is it not 


272 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


wonderful ? Now Lion and I need not wait 
two years, unless he prefers it, and can just 
go on and make our plans happily to suit 
ourselves and all of you, — and I shall love 
to think that we owe it all to dear Mamma 
Marian; only it will be a sore spot always 
that she never got the letter telling of our 
engagement. It came just after she died, and 
they returned it to me. 

“ Ned has his orders at last. He goes to 
sea in April, and Katy writes to papa that she 
will come and spend a year with him if he 
likes, while Ned is away. But papa won’t 
be here. He has quite decided, I think, to 
leave Burnet and make his home for the fu- 
ture with us in the High Valley. Three dif- 
ferent physicians have already offered to buy 
out his practice, and it is arranged that Dorry 
shall rent the old house of him, and the fur- 
niture too, except the books and a few spe- 
cial things which papa wishes to keep. He is 
going to write to you about the building of 
what he is pleased to call ‘ a separate shanty;’ 
but please don’t let the shanty be really sepa- 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


273 


rate ; he must be in with all of us somehow, 
or we shall never be satisfied. Did Lionel 
decide to move the Hutlet ? Of course Katy 
will spend her year in the Valley instead of 
Burnet. I am beginning to get my little 
trousseau together, and have set up a * wed- 
ding bureau’ to put the things in; but it is 
no fun at all without any sisters at home to 
help and sympathize. I am the only one who 
has had to get ready to be married all by 
herself. If Katy were not coming in two 
months I should be quite desperate. The 
chief thing on my mind is how to arrange 
about the two weddings with the family so 
scattered as it is.” 

This difficulty was settled by Clover a little 
later. Both the weddings she proposed should 
take place in the Valley. 

“ It is a case of Mahomet and mountain,” 
she wrote. “ Look at it dispassionately. You 
and papa and Katy and Dorry have got to 
come out here any way, — the rest of us are 
here ; and it is clearly impossible that all of us 
should go on to Burnet to see you married, 
18 


274 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


— though if you persist some of us will, in- 
convenient and expensive as it would be. 
But just consider what a picturesque and ro- 
mantic place the Valley is for a wedding, with 
the added advantage that you would be abso- 
lutely the first people who were ever married 
in it since the creation of the world ! I won’t 
say what may happen in the remote future, 
for Rose Red writes that she is going to 
change its name and call it henceforward 
‘The Ararat Valley/ not only because it 
contains ‘ a few souls, that is eight/ but also 
because all the creatures who go into it seem 
to enter pell-mell and come out two by two 
in pairs. You will inaugurate the long pro- 
cession at all events ! Do please think seri- 
ously of this, dear John. ‘ Consider, cow, 
consider, — 9 and write me that you con- 
sent. 

“We are building papa the most charming 
little bungalow ever seen, — a big library and 
two bedrooms, one for himself and one to 
spare. It is just off the southwest corner, 
and a little covered way connects it with our 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


275 


piazza ; for we are quite decided that he is to 
take his meals with us and not have the bother 
of independent housekeeping. Then if you 
decide to put your bungalow on the other 
side of his, as we hope you will, we shall all 
be close together. Lion will do nothing about 
the building till you come. You are to stay 
on indefinitely with us, and oversee the 
whole thing yourself from the driving of 
the first nail. We will all help, and won't 
it be fun ? 

“ There is something very stately and com- 
forting in the idea of a ‘ resident physician/ 
Elsie declares that now Phillida may have 
croup or any other infant disease she likes, 
and I sha’n’t lie awake at night to wonder 
what we should do in case Geoffey was 
thrown from the burro and broke a bone. I 
am not sure but we may yet attain to the dig- 
nity of a ‘ resident pastor 9 as well, for Geoff 
has decided not to move the Hutlet, but leave 
it as it is, putting in a little simple furniture, 
and offer it from time to time to some invalid 
clergyman who needs Colorado air and would 


276 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


be glad to spend a few months in the Valley. 
Who knows but it may grow some day into 
a little church ? Then indeed we should have 
a small world of our own, with the learned 
professions all represented ; for of course Phil 
by that time will be qualified to do our law 
for us, in case we quarrel and require writs 
and replevins or habeas corpuses, or any last 
wills and testaments drawn up. 

“ I have begun on new curtains for Katy’s 
room already, and Elsie and I have all man- 
ner of beautiful projects for the weddings. 
Now Johnnie darling, write at once and say 
that you agree to this plan. It really does 
seem a perfect one for everybody. The time 
must of course depend on when Dorry can 
get his leave, but we will be all ready when- 
ever it comes/ ’ 

Clover’s arguments were unanswerable, and 
every one gradually gave in to the plan which 
she had so much at heart. Dorry got a 
fortnight’s holiday, beginning on the 15th of 
June ; so the twentieth was fixed as the day 
for the double wedding, and the preparations 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


277 


went merrily on. Early in May Katy ar- 
rived in Burnet; and after that Johnnie had 
no need to complain of being unsistered, for 
Katy was a host in herself, and gave all her 
time to helping everybody. She sewed and 
finished, she packed and advised, she assisted 
to box her father’s books, and went with 
Dorry to choose the new papers and rugs 
which were to make the old house freshly 
bright for Imogen; she exclaimed and rejoiced 
over each wedding present that arrived, and 
supplied that sweet atmosphere of mutual 
interest and sympathy which is the vital 
breath of a family occasion. All was ready 
in time; the old home was in exact and per- 
fect order for its new mistress, the good-bys 
were said, and on the morning of the fif- 
teenth the party started for Colorado. 

Quite a little group waited for them on 
the platform of the St. Helen’s station three 
days later. Lionel had of course come in to 
meet his bride, and Imogen her bridegroom ; 
and Geoff had come, and Clover, to meet her 
father and Katy, and Phil was also in waiting. 


278 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


It was truly a wonderful moment when the 
train drew up, and Johnnie, all beautiful in 
smiles and dimples, encountered Lionel ; while 
Dorry jumped out to greet Imogen, who was 
in blooming health again, and very pleased 
to see him. 

“We have brought the two carryalls,” 
Clover explained. “ Geoff got a new one 
the other day, that the means of transpor- 
tation may keep pace with the increase of 
population, as he says. I think, Geoff, we 
will put the brides and bridegrooms together 
in the new one. Then the ‘ echoes ’ from 
the back seat can mix with the ‘ echoes 9 
from the front seat ; and it will be as good 
as the East Canyon, and they will all feel 
at home.” 

So it was arranged, and the party started. 

“Katy,” cried Clover, looking at her sis- 
ter with eyes that seemed to drink her in, 
“ I had forgotten quite how dear you are ! 
It seems to me that you have grown hand- 
some, my child ; or is it only that you are 
a little fatter?” 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


279 


"I am afraid the latter,” replied Katy, 
with a laugh. “No one but Ned was ever 
so deluded as to call me handsome.” 

“Where is Ned? It is such a shame that 
he can't be here, — the only one of the 
family missing ! ” 

“ He is on his way to China,” said Katy, 
with a little suppressed sigh. “'Yes, it is 
too bad ; but it can’t be helped. Naval or- 
ders are like time and tide, and wait for 
no man, and most of all for no woman.” 
She paused a moment, and changed the sub- 
ject abruptly. “Did I tell you,” she asked, 
“that after I broke up at Newport I went 
to Rose for a week ? ” 

“Johnnie wrote that you were to go.” 

“ It was such a bright week ! Boston 
was beautiful, as it always is in spring, 
with the Public Garden a blaze of flow- 
ers, and all the pretty country about so 
green and sweet ! Rose was most delight- 
ful ; and I saw ever so many of the old 
Hillsover girls, and even had a glimpse of 
Mrs. Nipson ! ” 


280 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ That must have been rather a bad joy.” 

“N — o, not exactly. I was rather glad, 
on the whole, to meet her again. She is n’t 
as bad as we made her out. School-girls 
are almost always unjust to their teachers.” 

“ Oh, come, now,” said Clover, making a 
little face. “ This is a happy occasion, cer- 
tainly, and I am in a benignant frame of 
mind, but really I can’t stand having you 
so horridly charitable. ‘ There is no virtue, 
madam, in a mush of concession.’ Mrs. 
Nipson was an unpleasant old thing, — so 
there ! Let us talk of something else. Tell 
me about your visit to Cousin Helen.” 

“ Oh, that was a sweet visit all through. 
I stayed ten days, and she was better than 
usual, it seemed to me. Did I write about 
little Helen’s ball?” 

“ No.” 

“She is just nineteen, and it was her 
first dance. Such a pretty creature, and 
so pleased and excited about it! and Cousin 
Helen was equally so. She gave Helen her 
dress complete, down to the satin shoes, 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


281 


and the fan and the long gloves, and a tur- 
quoise necklace, and turquoise pins for her 
hair. You never saw anything so charm- 
ing as the way in which she enjoyed it. 
You would have supposed that Helen was 
her own child, as she lay on the sofa, with 
such bright beaming eyes, while the pretty 
thing turned round and round to exhibit 
her finery.” 

“ There certainly never was any one like 
Cousin Helen. She is embodied sympathy,” 
said Clover. “Now, Katy, I want you to 
look. We are just turning into our own 
road.” 

It was a radiant afternoon, with long, 
soft shadows alternating with golden sun- 
shine, and the High Valley was at its very 
best as they slowly climbed the zigzag pass. 
With every turn and winding Katy’s pleas- 
ure grew ; and when they rounded the last 
curve, and came in sight of the little group 
of buildings, with their picturesque back- 
ground of forest and the splendid peak soar- 
ing above, she exclaimed with delight: — 


282 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ What a perfect situation ! Clover, you 
never said enough about it ! Surely the 
half was not told me, as the Queen of Sheba 
remarked ! Oh, and there is Elsie on the 
porch, and that thing in white beside her 
is Phillida ! I never dreamed she could be 
so large ! How glad I am that I did n’t 
die of measles when I was little, as dear 
Rose Red used to say.” 

Katy’s coming was the crowning pleasure 
of the occasion to all, but most of all to 
Clover. To have her most intimate sister 
in her own home, and be able to see her 
every day and all day long, and consult and 
advise and lay before her the hopes and 
intentions and desires of her heart, which 
she could never so fully share with any 
one else, except Geoff, was a delight which 
never lost its zest, and of which Clover 
never grew weary. 

To settle Dr. Carr in his new quarters 
was another pleasure, in which they all took 
equal part. When his books and microscopes 
were unpacked, and the Burnet belongings 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


283 


arranged pretty much in their old order, the 
rooms looked wonderfully homelike, even 
to him. The children soon learned to adore 
him, as children always had done ; the only 
trouble was that they fought for the pos- 
session of his knee, and would never wil- 
lingly have left him a moment for himself. 
His leisure had to be protected by a series 
of nursery laws and penances, or he would 
never have had any; but he said he liked 
the children better than the leisure. He 
was born to be a grandfather ; nobody told 
stories like him, or knew so well how to 
please and pacify and hit the taste of little 
people. 

But all this, of course, came subsequently 
to the double wedding, which took place 
two days after the arrival of the home- 
party. The morning of the twentieth was 
unusually fine, even for Colorado, — fair, 
cloudless, and golden bright, as if ordered 
for the occasion, — without a cloud on the 
sky from dawn to sunset. The ceremony 
was performed by a clergyman from Port- 


284 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


land, who with his invalid wife were set- 
tled in the Hutlet for the summer, very 
glad of the pleasant little home offered 
them, and to escape from the crowd and 
confusion of Mrs. Marsh’s boarding-house, 
where Geoff had found them. Two or 
three particular friends drove out from St. 
Helen’s; but with that exception the whole 
wedding was “valley-made,” as Elsie de- 
clared, including delicious raspberry ice- 
cream, and an enormous cake, over which 
she and Clover had expended much time 
and thought, and which, decorated with em- 
blematical designs in icing and wreathed 
with yucca-blossoms, stood in the middle 
of the table. 

The ceremony took place at noon pre- 
cisely, when, as Phil facetiously observed, 
“ the shadows of the high contracting parties 
could never be less.” There was little that 
was formal about it, but much that was rev- 
erent and sweet and full of true feeling. 
Imogen and Johnnie had both agreed to 
wear white muslin dresses, very much such 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


285 


dresses as they were all accustomed to wear 
on afternoons ; but Imogen had on her head 
her mother’s wedding-veil, which had been 
sent out from England, and John wore 
Katy’s, “for luck,” as she said. Both car- 
ried a big bouquet of Mariposa lilies, and 
the house was filled with the characteristic 
wild-flowers of the region most skilfully and 
effectively grouped and arranged. 

A hospitably hearty luncheon followed 
the ceremony, of which all partook ; then 
Imogen went away to put on her pretty 
travelling-suit of pale brown, and the carry- 
all came round to take Mr. and Mrs. Theo- 
dore Carr to St. Helen’s, which was the first 
stage on their journey of life. 

The whole party stood on the porch to 
see them go. Imogen’s last word and em- 
brace were for Clover. 

“We are sisters now,” she whispered. “ I 
belong to you just as much as Isabel does, 
and I am so glad that I do ! Dear Clover, 
you have been more good to me than I can 
say, and I shall never forget it.” 


286 


IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 


“ Nonsense about being good ! You are 
my Dorry’s wife now, and our own dear 
sister. There is no question about good- 
ness, — only to love one another.” 

She kissed Imogen warmly, and helped 
her into the carriage. Dorry sprang after 
her ; the wheels revolved ; and Phil, seizing 
a horseshoe which hung ready to hand on 
the wall of the house, flung it after the 
departing vehicle. 

“ It ’s more appropriate than any other 
sort of old shoe for this Place of Hoofs,” 
he observed. “Well, the Carr family are 
certainly pretty well disposed of now. I am 
‘the last ungathered rose on my ancestral 
tree.’ I wonder who will tear me from my 
stem ! ” 

“You can afford to hang on a while 
longer/’ remarked Elsie. “I don’t consider 
you fairly expanded yet, by any means. 
You ’ll be twice as well worth gathering a 
few years from now.” 

“ Oh, very fine ! — years indeed ! Why, I 
shall be a seedy old bachelor ! That would 


A DOUBLE KNOT. 


287 


never do ! And Amy Ashe, whom I have 
had in my eye ever since she was in pina- 
fores, will be married to some other fellow ! ” 

“ Don’t set your heart on Amy,” said 
Katy. “ She ’s not seventeen yet ; and I 
don’t think her mother has any idea of 
having her made into Ashe-s of Roses so 
early ! ” 

“ There ’s no harm in having a girl in 
one's eye,” retorted Phil, disconsolately. “ I 
declare, you all look so contented and so 
satisfied with yourselves and one another, 
that it ’s enough to madden a fellow, left 
out, as I am, in the cold ! I shall go back 
to St. Helen’s with Dr. and Mrs. Hope.” 

The others, left to themselves in their 
happy loneliness, gathered together in the 
big room after the last guest had gone. 
Geoff touched a match to the ready-laid 
fire ; Clover wheeled an armchair forward 
for her father, and sat down beside him 
with her arm on his knee ; John and 
Lionel took possession of a big sofa. 

“ Now let us enjoy ourselves,” said Clover. 


288 IN THE HIGH VALLEY. 

“ The world is shut out, we are shut in ; 
there are none to molest and make us afraid ; 
and, please Heaven, there is a whole, long, 
happy year before us ! I never did suppose 
anything so perfectly perfect could happen 
to us all as this. Now, papa, — dear papa, — 
just say that you like it as much as we 
all do.” 

Elsie perched herself on the arm of her 
father’s chair ; Katy stood behind, stroking 
his hair. Dr. Carr held out his hand to 
Johnnie, who ran across the room, knelt 
down, caught it in both hers, and fondly 
laid her cheek upon it. 

“ I like it quite as much as you do,” he 
said. “ Where my girls are is the place for 
me; and I am going to be the most con- 
tented old gentleman in America for the 
rest of my days.” 


THE END 





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•f 


y 


% • 










New Editions of Old Favorites 

THE KATY DID SEMES 

By SUSAN COOLIDGE 


1. What Katy Did 

2. What Katy Did Next 

3 . What Katy Did at School 

4. Clover 

5. In The High Valley 
Illustrated by Wm. A. McCullough. Cloth. $1.50 each 

T HE new editions of these favorite books are made espe- 
cially attractive by large clear type and new pictures, 
and strong reinforced library bindings. Like Miss Alcott’s 
“ Little Women Series” Susan Coolidge’s “Katy Did Books” 
never lose their interest for young readers, and after years of 
popularity are still among the essential books for children in 
public libraries throughout the country. The charming illus- 
trations by William A. McCullough now add greatly to the 
value of these stories. 


Susan Coolidge has been endowed by some good fairy with 
the gift of story writing. Her books are sensible, vivacious, 
and full of incident to tickle the fancy and brighten the 
mind of young readers, and withal full also of wise and 
judicious teachings, couched beneath the simple talk and sim- 
ple doings of childhood. — The Christian Intelligencer. 

Not even Miss Alcott apprehends child nature with finer 
sympathy, or pictures its nobler traits with more skill. — 
Boston Daily Advertiser. 

This ever-delightful author, Susan Coolidge, knows as well 
what is good for a girl’s mind as what will delight her heart. 
. . . And she knows just what girls do and say when they 
are left to themselves. — The Critic , New York. 

All Susan Coolidge’s stories have a fine sympathy with 
child nature, and are free from exaggeration and sensation- 
alism. — Outlook , New York. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 

34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON 










SEP 24 1913 



























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































